


Betting Blind

by ORiley42



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: ALL OF IT, Betting, Canon Divergent, F/F, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, Identity Reveal, M/M, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Pining, claire and karen ship it, claire is a goddess, foggy is a little jealous, karen is a cutie, literally all of the pining, matt is a lot angsty what else is new, season 1 ish, the karen/claire is p background just fyi, very fluffy not really angsty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-03
Updated: 2015-09-03
Packaged: 2018-04-18 19:11:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 25,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4717277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ORiley42/pseuds/ORiley42
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Matt’s lips pinched together as Claire grinned. “So, whataya say Murdock? You willing to put your money where your mouth is? Or are you too chicken?”<br/>In which bets are made, faces are touched, too much yogurt is bought, and feelings are had.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Bet

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ChuckleVoodoos](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChuckleVoodoos/gifts).



> This takes place at an unspecified magical time in season one-ish where Claire and Matt aren’t together anymore, but Foggy doesn’t know about Matt’s powers or nighttime activities. And also Ben is still alive because happy reasons, but Ms. Cardenas is still dead, sorry.  
> Shoutout to my buddy Katy for reminding me that I shouldn’t sell my kidneys no matter how tempting the offer is, some advice I had Matt pass on to Foggy.
> 
> This is my first Matt/Foggy fic, and I give all my love to the fabulous stories by ChuckleVoodoos, whose writing totally inspired me and has brought me to real tears and hysterical laughter.

“You seem quite excited about today,” Matt noted as he took Claire’s arm and they strolled off down the sidewalk.

“Well, it’s not often I get to meet new people, at least properly. Hard to get acquainted with folks who are busy with some combination of bleeding, crying, and throwing up.”

“I can see how an emergency room is not conducive to building new friendships.”

“It’s really not. And besides, I’m dying to meet your whole crew. The fabled Karen and Foggy, about whom I’ve heard endless tales…”

“Not _endless_ …”

“Yes, _endless_ , you never talk about anything else. Especially Foggy, it’s always ‘Foggy says this’ or ‘Foggy and I once did this’, Foggy, Foggy, Foggy.”

“Now you’re exaggerating.”

“I’m really not. But I guess it makes sense considering he is the founding member of the very select ‘People Matt Murdock Lets Get Close’ Club.”

Matt made a sort of harrumphing noise at that, but didn’t actually disagree, so Claire decided to call it a victory.

“So, these two…” Claire leaned in conspiratorially, “are they cute?”

“Hmm? I wouldn’t know, would I,” Matt responded, the paradigm of innocence.

“I get the feeling you would, and _do_ know. So, spill, are they cute?”

“Well, I’m a little biased, but I would say yes. Very.”

“Which one?”

“Both,” Matt answered casually.

“So, a regular smorgasbord for us bisexuals, eh?” Claire asked, feigning nonchalance. She’d suspected Matt played both sides of the street like her, but didn’t have any solid confirmation of the fact.

“I suppose,” Matt replied, equally casual, “and if that’s your extremely subtle way of asking if I, uh, enjoy the company of both sexes, than your answer is yes.”

“Ha, I knew it. My radar is impeccable. But that begs the question, if you’re working with two cuties, who I assume must also be relatively kind and intelligent, since they’re your friends, why are you still single?”

“Well, as you said, I work with them, so it wouldn’t exactly be appropriate to date either of them,” Matt retorted crisply, tilting his head away and clearly hoping the conversation would end there.

“Sounds like you’ve given it some thought, then,” Claire pried, not to be dissuaded so easily.

“Not really.”

“Liar.”

“Oh, do you hear heartbeats too, now?”

“No, but you’re a pretty bad liar considering you keep the world’s biggest secret. Maybe that’s why you don’t let people get close,” Claire reflected.

“Yes, Claire, that is definitely one of the reasons I don’t let people get close,” Matt almost snarled, and Claire realized a little too late she’d hit a sensitive nerve “And my _secret_ is the reason I haven’t had a lasting relationship ever, and why I’m not inclined to ruin the few functional ones I have with misplaced romantic overtures.” Matt huffed and tapped his cane a little bit more fiercely on the pavement. “You know that, better than anyone.”

“Hey now,” Claire chided gently, not allowing herself to feel guilty or mad at the bitterness in Matt’s tone. “Not everything’s meant to be. And we’re still friends, that’s the important thing.” She patted his hand where it loosely gripped her elbow, and felt him relax a little.

“Yes, that is what’s important. But I can’t count on _him_ ,” Matt tilted his head towards the office building they were crossing the street towards, “to react the same way.”

Claire stifled a laugh as she realized what he’d said. “Hey, Matt, you know you just said ‘him’, right?”

“What? I didn’t…I said ‘them.’”

“Sure you did. Well, that makes things more interesting. I’ll make sure to keep my paws off your man.”

Matt shook his head, but once again didn’t respond, making his feelings all the clearer.

“So, the other important question then: which team or teams do our prospective romantic conquests play for?”

“They are both outstanding heterosexuals, as far as I am aware,” Matt answered stiffly, his tone bitter once again.

“Well, then, that leaves us with a bit of a mismatch doesn’t it, considering?”

Matt sighed heavily. “You know, Claire, as much as your romantic prospects of the utmost concern to me, these are actually my _friends_ , and you could make an effort to think of them as such.”

“Hey, I plan on being friendly!” Claire put her hand to her heart, mock aghast. “ _Very_ friendly,” she couldn’t help intoning with repressed giggles as they stepped into the ragged old building.

~~~

“Hey guys, I’ve got someone I’d like you to meet,” Matt announced as he swung open the door to the offices of Nelson and Murdock. Karen and Foggy glanced up from the liens they’d been inspecting, and were greeted with the sight of Matt smiling broadly and holding the arm of a thoroughly stunning woman.

Karen did her best not to let her heart speed up at the sight of said woman, though her glamorous smile and Amazonian sort of build were making that rather hard.

Foggy did his best to dredge up a cheery smile and wave at the newcomer, rather than run her out of town in a fit of jealous rage, but the way Matt was smiling at her with a deep fondness was making that rather hard.

“Figured we’d pop in and say hi before we went for lunch,” Matt added.

“Hi!” Karen greeted Claire enthusiastically.

“Hi,” Foggy greeted Claire, slightly less enthusiastically.

“This is Claire. We met a while back when I had to go to the hospital for, uh, one of my clumsier incidents…”

“And we’ve been friends ever since!” Claire finished for him with another stunning smile.

Hottie McBurner Phone, Foggy suddenly deduced, his jealousy battling fiercely with his otherwise easy-going nature. The fact that Matt actually brought Claire around to meet them was…well, it was unprecedented. Matt had never, actually _never_ in Foggy’s memory, been this seriously involved with anyone before, and Foggy didn’t think he’d realized until just now how much he’d taken that for granted.

Just be happy for him, he chanted like a mantra in his head as he kept his brightest smile plastered on his face. He tried not to feel too devastated as Claire and Matt kept up an easy conversation, even as Foggy and Karen neglected to contribute more than a few “ah’s” and “mhmm’s.” They’ve clearly been spending a lot of time together, Foggy concluded miserably.

“Well, I hope to see the two of you again soon!” Claire wiggled her fingers and tossed back one, last, beaming smile as she led Matt back out of the office.

“You too!” Karen waved back, not noticing Foggy’s rather conspicuous lack of a good-bye as the door closed behind the two.

“Wow, she was…wow. She seems great, doesn’t she?” Karen stated more than asked, her eyes still fixed on the door Claire had just left through. It took her a moment to realize Foggy had retreated back to the desk, and was glaring at the pile of paperwork on it with rather more venom than was necessary.

Karen sighed exaggeratedly. “You know, I can actually _hear_ your heart breaking from across the room.”

“I...it's not...” Foggy protested feebly, before acquiescing. “Yeah, ok. You caught me.”

“You know, when I first met you and Matt, I thought you were a thing,” Karen told him as she moved closer to place a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“Yeah?” Foggy glanced up at her, almost pitifully hopeful.

“Yeah. And now I’m wondering why you’re not, if you’re as over the moon about him as you’re acting right now.”

“Aw, no, it’s not like that…I just…I’m just kind of territorial about my friends, that’s all. It’s a character flaw. I’m working on it.”

Karen hmmed, unconvinced, fixing Foggy with her best tell-the-truth stare.

Foggy broke in a matter of seconds. “Ok, yes, fine, I’m completely over the moon. An actual astronaut. Totally a goner. But it doesn’t matter, I really don’t think I’m his type.”

“I dunno, he seems to like blondes,” Karen responded idly.

“Yeah, he does, something _you’ve_ gotten to experience up close and personal.” Foggy couldn’t keep a bitter note out of his voice, a fact Karen picked up on easily.

“Hey, Foggy, I don’t think about Matt that way…”

Now Foggy was the one giving her with a serious stare. “ _Really_?” he pressed, eyebrows raised.

“Well, maybe a little…but not seriously! He’s hot, sure, but there’s something about him…a sort of…darkness that I don’t want to get too close to.”

“I think that’s part of his charm, the whole, bad-boy seductive thing,” Foggy quickly defended his best friend.

“Yes, yes! See! You are _way_ more of a match for him,” Karen flailed her hands around a bit, emphasizing her point.

Foggy let his head fall back, resigned. “Maybe, but I don’t think _he_ knows that.”

“ _Then tell him_!” Karen insisted, poking his arm to articulate each word.

“No thanks, I think I’d like to keep my dignity and our friendship intact,” Foggy rejoined, and cut Karen off before she could object, “And since Matt’s gone off to have what I’m sure will be a very long lunch with his gorgeous lady friend, that leaves _us_ to deal with _this_ ,” he gestured firmly to the significant mess of papers scattered across Karen’s desk.

She sighed, giving up for the moment, and they sat down to continuing trudging through the jumble, both very pointedly _not_ thinking of two certain people who had just left their office.

~~~

“He seems sweet,” Claire slid her eyes over to Matt to gauge his reaction as they stepped out of the dingy office building and into the early afternoon sunlight. “Foggy, I mean. Very sweet.”

Matt made a non-committal noise, his expression unchanged.

“ _Too_ sweet?”  She asked, truly curious.

“Too _straight_ ,” he reminded her tersely, his expression brooking no further comment.

Claire nodded to herself, patting his hand sympathetically. “All the good ones are,” she sighed, thinking of Nelson and Murdock’s exquisite blonde secretary.

They were seated ten minutes later at a café that Claire informed Matt had very charming décor, and Matt informed Claire was one of the more passable-smelling food establishments in the city. They’d chatted aimlessly for nearly an hour, both done with their main course and working through a chocolate soufflé together, before Claire began to edge the conversation back towards her new acquaintances.

“You know that radar I told you about?” she began, “How I knew you played for both teams?”

Matt just heaved a sigh instead of responding, clearly not thrilled about the road this conversation was going down.

“Well, I’m getting some pretty strong pings from both of your pretty blonde friends. I mean, in my opinion, everyone has a bisexual inside of them just waiting for the right guy or gal, but seriously…I don’t think an attempt by either of us would be entirely inadvisable.”

“Such a ringing endorsement of the possibilities,” Matt deadpanned. “And your touching concern for my love life is duly noted. But it doesn’t matter, in my case, since Foggy’s never actually evidenced any interest in men, and nor have I as far as he knows, so your ‘radar’ must be faulty. And it’s not like I saw you moving in to sweep Karen off her feet, based on your hunch.”

Claire waved off his last sentence, still stuck back on the first part of what he’d said. “ _Wait_ , so Foggy doesn’t _know_ you’re bi?”

“It’s kind of an awkward conversation to have with someone you’re just met and are supposed to be living with in a platonic manner.”

“Really? As awkward as silently, tragically pining away for said platonic roommate, as I would guess you’ve been doing for years now?”

“Listen, Claire, it just would have made things… _weird_ , between us. And, I mean, he’s always been going after girls, it’s not like he would…would _understand_.”

“But you can’t _know_ that! For all you _do_ know, he might think the same thing about _you_. I mean, you seem like the skirt-chasing type yourself.”

“Claire, please, just stop, don’t you think I’ve tortured myself with the possibilities before? That I’ve been doing it for years, as you say?”

“But you haven’t _talked_ to him? Seems like that’s step one, to me.”

“It’s just not, he’s just not…”

“So you’re saying that it’s completely unreasonable to consider the possibility that Foggy’s locked himself away in a closet, just like you? That he’s just waiting for a sign from you to make a move? That maybe he despaired of the possibility, just like you, because of how you hide so much of yourself away inside?”

“Dammit, Claire, I would know. I would know if he was attracted to me anymore, I could hear his heartbeat – ”

“Wait, what do you mean ‘ _anymore’_?”

“Oh, I, uh…” Matt shook his head, spluttering a little as he tried unsuccessfully to backpedal.

“ _Anymore_? So he _was_ attracted to you? For Christ’s sake, Matt!”

“Yeah, I mean, no, I mean…” Matt waved his hands, struggling to explain, “when we first met his heartrate went through the roof, he was sweating and twitching, the whole deal – but, but I didn’t know him, so I kind of…brushed it off.”

“OK. Let me get this straight. Foggy _was_ attracted to you. And you blew him off because…?”

“I had no idea who he was! He was a perfect stranger, and I mean, at the time, I’d never really… explored my interest in…”

“In men,” Claire finished, frustrated. “Sure, fine. So, you were still just… figuring things out, so you didn’t go for it then. But what is stopping you _now_? And, why in God’s name do you think he’s so painfully _straight_ if he was into you?”

“I told you, I _thought_ he was attracted to me _then_. It was a matter of days before he just started acting, you know…like other, straight guys. I think it was just a, a _fluke_ , and he got over it. Or I just misread the signs entirely, and he was just nervous to meet his new roommate and nothing more. And he has never since expressed _any_ interest in _any_ men, in all the time I’ve known him. Not one, not ever. He hasn’t even looked at anyone as far as I can tell. So, clearly, it was just a weird, one-time thing.”

Claire let her head fall to the table, resting her forehead on the edge as she closed her eyes and breathed deeply. “You’re such a fucking _idiot_ , Murdock.”

“What?”

“You are literally reciting the premise of every trashy romance _ever_.”

“Forgive me, but I seriously doubt most romances involve chemically heightened senses allowing the protagonist to extrapolate on the various romantic interests of his friends.”

“No, Matt, not _that_ , I’m talking about how Foggy hasn’t looked at any other men since he met _you_!” Claire exclaimed, popping back up and glaring at Matt. “Think about that for a second. Just think about it.”

Matt didn’t look like he was thinking about it, in fact, he looked like he was very stubbornly doing his best _not_ to think about. Claire slammed her palms on the table, fed up with Matt and his stupid, handsome, mopey face.

“Matt, I would be willing to bet hard, cold, cash that Foggy has been pining for you the entire fucking time too, and you’ve both just been too blind to see it!”

It took a minute for the penny to drop on what she’d said, and when Matt raised his eyebrows and tapped his glasses meaningfully, Claire just dropped her head back onto the table.

“I give up. Be sad and lonely forever. What do I care.”

Matt sighed, twiddling his cane lightly between his fingers, thinking. “Claire, so, I mean…you don’t really think...”

“Yes, Murdock, I _do really think_.”

“Well, if you’re so sure that you’re willing to take a _gamble_ on it…” Claire slowly raised her head at the mischievous lilt that had wormed its way into Matt’s tone. “Then, what do you say we make a bet?”

Claire searched Matt’s features, wondering what he was up to. “What would be the terms?”

“If you win, I will confess everything to Foggy. My sexuality, my feelings…everything.”

“Sounds great. But what do _I_ have to do to get this miracle off the ground? Sell you my soul?”

Matt’s mouth twisted into a wicked smile, making Claire’s heart skip a beat, with fear or desire, she was never really sure with him.

“Nothing so drastic. You just have to…ask Karen out to dinner.”

 _Oh_. “K-Karen? What do you mean? I know I joked about trying to get a date but…she’s not…she’s not actually my type,” Claire lied through her teeth, even though she knew the effort was wasted.

“Please, Claire, don’t bother. You started exhibiting all the signs as soon as you laid eyes on her, and when she bent over to move those boxes aside…” Matt whistled, leaning back in his chair, pleased.

“Listen, asshole,” Claire started to say, before realizing she didn’t actually _have_ anything to say.

“Or…” Matt shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly, grinning like he’d just won his case, “we could just drop the whole thing.”

Claire considered her options. On the one hand, avoiding almost certain, painful embarrassment and ensuing rejection. On the other hand, wiping that smug grin off his face while also possibly erasing the lonesome, bone-deep sadness that seemed to permeate Matt’s very being. And, of course, the somewhat remote possibility of actually going out with the jaw-droppingly beautiful Karen.

“Ok, fine,” Claire declared, before she could talk herself out of it. “I’ll do it.”

Matt cocked his head, apparently not expecting this outcome. “Really…you’re going to ask Karen out.”

“Hey, she _is_ really cute, and she seems nice and smart and all that too. And, of course, I’m dying to see what a cute couple you and Foggy will make.” Matt’s lips pinched together as Claire grinned.

“So, whataya say Murdock? You willing to put your money where your mouth is? Or are you too chicken?”

 _That_ made Matt snap to attention, his eyes narrowing behind his glasses.

“Oh, wait,” Claire held up her hands, “What do _you_ get if I don’t ask Karen out and you win?”

Matt smirked, and answered sweetly, “I win blessed silence on the matter of me and Foggy, and the sad state of my love life in general.”

Claire considered it, and then nodded, her mind made up and confidence growing. She could ask a pretty girl out on a date. How hard could it be?

“Ok, let’s do this.” Claire held out her hand for a shake, and Matt didn’t bother pretending he couldn’t see it, reaching out and taking it firmly.

“So, quick question,” Claire turned towards Matt as they paid their bill and headed back out into the bustle of hurried people and honking taxis, “my bi-dar is usually pretty infallible but…did Karen’s, uh, heartrate, you know…”

“Now, now,” Matt inclined his head towards her as he took her elbow and allowed himself to be led outside, “where would be the fun if I told you that? You’ve got to go into this bet…blind,” Matt tilted his head in what seemed to serve as a sort of eye-less wink. Claire groaned loudly at the bad joke, as they pushed their way through a cloud of confused tourists and frazzled businesspeople and back towards Nelson & Murdock.


	2. Yogurt and Silk Sheets

“Hey, Matt,” Foggy greeted his friend with forced cheerfulness, “where’s Claire?”

“Oh, she had to go start her shift at the hospital,” Matt shrugged as he set his cane in the corner of the room, and carefully made his way towards Foggy’s voice.

“Oh, well, that’s ok. We have tons of paperwork to slog through together!” Foggy informed him with authentic cheeriness this time – better Matt was tearing his hair out with Foggy than doing whatever sexy things he’d be doing with Claire. Foggy sighed at the thought, half with jealousy, and half with anger at himself for being so petty. Be happy for him, he started the chant back up in his head.

“Hey, where’s Karen?” Matt gestured vaguely around the secretary-less room.

“I sent her out to get some cream cheese for the… drumroll please…” Foggy brandished a small cardboard box in Matt’s general direction, shaking it so he’d hear the doughy rattle, “bagels!”

“Bagels? Foggy, I _just_ finished lunch.”

“Yeah, _you_ did, I’ve been starving, up to my ears in the most boring shit I’ve ever read, and I’m including the stuff we suffered through in 1201 with Professor Edelman.”

Matt hissed in sympathy, “That bad huh? Well, in that case, you deserve the bagels.” Matt patted Foggy’s hand companionably, and Foggy beamed, feeling lighter than he had since Matt walked through the door that afternoon with a damn goddess on his arm.

“Where did you get these, anyway?” Matt sniffed the box, interestedly, “they don’t smell like the day-old clearance kind you, or I should say your _wallet_ , favor.”

“It is possible that they may have been purloined from the financial office next door.”

“Foggy!” Matt admonished, “first their tea, now their bagels, you’re going to eat them out of business! Also, they may come over here and kick your ass, and I won’t protect you.”

“Hey, I am offended! I can take care of myself. And anyway, I pull off the dumb blonde thing pretty well. That’s how I got these, wandering into their office and pretending I’d gotten lost on the way to ours.”

“And they _bought_ that?”

“Yeah, well, their secretary is an _actual_ dumb blonde, unlike ours, and I’m pretty charming when I want to be, so…”

“Hmm.”

“‘Hmm,’ you approve of my brilliant dastardly plan, or ‘hmm,’ you’re gonna turn me in to the bagel police?”

“‘Hmm,’ I’d sort of forgotten you were blonde.” Matt’s head was tilted thoughtfully, and he seemed to be focused intently on the wall about two inches to the left of Foggy’s head.

“Oh.” Foggy couldn’t think of anything intelligent to say to that.

“And Karen is too?” Matt asked tentatively.

“Yup,” Foggy confirmed, “apparently you attract hot blondes.”

Matt broke into a wide smile, “Yeah, I guess I do.” Foggy’s stomach flipped happily at the, albeit roundabout, sort-of compliment.

“So…” Foggy began, hesitantly, “I’d actually been wondering…do you remember what I look like? You know, from that time you…touched my face, or whatever?” Foggy spit the last part of his sentence out quickly before his courage failed him.

“Uh…no, not really,” Matt shrugged like it wasn’t a big deal, but his eyebrows pulled together in a tell-tale sign that he was upset about something.

“Well then,” Foggy grabbed the seat of his chair and shuffled it closer to Matt’s. “C’mon, Matt, time for a refresher course. It’d be a crime for you to be unaware of my stunning features, and I’m a lawyer, so I can’t abide by any law breaking.”

“You have committed actual theft in the last hour,” Matt pointed out.

“Yeah, well a little _strategic borrowing_ never hurt anyone; this would be the facial equivalent of grand larceny. Now, approach the bench.” Matt’s laugh at that sent a warm blush of pleasure to Foggy’s cheeks, a minor problem since Matt would probably be able to feel that in a moment.

“You’ve got a,” Matt paused to catch his breath and laugh a little more, “a pretty high opinion of yourself, your honor.”

“Would you like to offer a rebuttal, counselor?”

“Well, I suppose I’d better examine the evidence first.”

Foggy tried to convince himself that he was sweating suddenly because the temperature control in their office was a joke, and not because of the distinctly flirty note to Matt’s words as he slowly raised his hands in the general direction of Foggy’s face. Foggy gulped down a breath and reached out to take Matt’s hands, guiding them gently to cup his face.

Matt’s lips pursed in concentration as he began to softly probe the edges of Foggy’s jaw, down to his chin, and back up to sweep his palms across Foggy’s cheeks.

Foggy was doing fairly well not-hyperventilating while definitely enjoying the incredible feeling of Matt Murdock’s entire focus being on touching him in a very thorough manner. Wow, that sounded dirty, even in Foggy’s head. Definitely not helping with the whole no-hyperventilating thing.

Matt ran his thumbs gently over Foggy’s eyebrows, along the ridge of bone under his eyes, rubbing gently (Foggy tried not to characterize it as tenderly) along the thin, sensitive skin there.

“What color are they?” Matt asked vaguely.

“Hmm, what?” Foggy tried not to let the words come out as a sigh, and mostly succeeded. “Oh! My eyes? They’re sort of blue-y, greenish?”

“Like…the ocean?” Matt wondered, smiling softly.

“If you want to be poetic, then I guess so. Maybe more like a lake, or something, I don’t think they’re quite at the deep-blue-sea level.”

Matt laughed again, and it was a wonderful sensation for Foggy to _feel_ him laugh as his fingers brushed along the edges of Foggy’s mirroring smile.

“A lake, I like that. Or maybe,” Matt snorted a laugh at whatever he was about to say, “they’re like the ocean when it’s… _foggy_?”

“Oh my _God_ , Matt you are…you’re…” Foggy chuckled more at the overly pleased grin on Matt’s face than at his truly bad pun. “You are _terrible_. I am thinking of revoking your face-touching privileges.”

“I know, I know. And that’s not even the first dreadful joke I’ve made today.”

“And it probably won’t be the last,” Foggy added, resisting the urge to press Matt’s hands more firmly against his face on the chance that all this laughing and joking was signaling the end of the face-touching session that Foggy was getting way too much pleasure out of.

But that was apparently not Matt’s intention, as he leaned in even closer, shoulders still moving with the last remnants of giggles. “Well, back to the matter at hand,” he inclined his head towards Foggy, and his fingers once again began to roam methodically across Foggy’s features.

“Hmm. You know, you make a pretty convincing case,” Matt almost whispered, so close Foggy could see the slight lines beginning to take root around his eyes, and the nearly invisible patch of scar tissue next to his right brow, almost faded from when Matt had tripped taking out the trash, or whatever ridiculous thing it was that time.

“I usually do. But what am I arguing for now, again?”

“That your face is a treasure, whose absence in my mind may get me five to twenty years, depending on whether or not it’s my first offense.”

“Oh.” Any response Foggy may have been able to come up with to that was wiped away as his mind blurred into blank static at what Matt did next. Matt’s features shifted through a myriad of expressions that looked a bit like hope, worry, and determination, before the fingers of his right hand slid down along Foggy’s cheekbone and swung a hard left to trace softly along Foggy’s lips. The barely-there pressure of the tips of Matt’s fingers running along the edges and over the curves of Foggy’s mouth was mildly electric and completely heavenly and –

“Uh, hey?” a confused, female voice emanating from the doorway was like a slap to Foggy’s currently very sensitive face. He jerked back instinctively, like he’d been caught with his hand in the metaphorical cookie jar.

For a moment Matt’s fingers lingered in the air where Foggy’s face, his _lips_ , had been a moment ago, before Matt let them fall into his lap.

“I just…” Karen continued awkwardly, “you two…” she trailed off, looking askance at Foggy who smiled a bit manically, angling his eyes surreptitiously towards Matt’s blank expression, hoping Karen got the message of “please God don’t say anything incriminating.”

“Just getting Matt reacquainted with my amazing face!” Foggy quickly explained, a little frantically. “Gotta make sure he gets the details right when describing my awesomeness to the ladies, right Wingman?”

“Right,” Matt agreed, a little coolly. Dammit, Foggy thought, is he pissed that Karen saw that? Why would that be? Did it hurt his hetero-cred? Bitterness rose in Foggy’s throat for the second time that day, and he wished fervently he could just erase all of these ridiculous, painful feelings – from the clawing jealous of the lovely ladies he should be thinking of as friends not opponents, to the heated attraction for the man he should be thinking of as his friend and nothing more.

“You get the cream cheese?” Foggy stood up, trying to muscle his way past the discomfort radiating from all occupants of the room, and reaching for the plastic bag dangling from Karen’s arm.

“Uh, yeah, here you go,” she handed it to him, along with a sharp look that seemed to say both “what the hell” and ask “are you being an idiot?” Foggy just shrugged at her, and she sighed, resigned.

“It is officially a feast!” Foggy declared, doing his best to sound jovial even though he was pretty sure a little part of him had just died. Of embarrassment and shame at the way he’d manipulated Matt into feeling him up, or possibly because of the sinking pit that formed in his stomach as he realized he may never feel the touch of Matt’s hands on his face again.

Foggy leaned on the edge of Karen’s desk, spreading strawberry cream cheese on a blueberry bagel and handing half off to her, not able to stomach more than a few nibbles himself, what with his emotions running a riot around his insides. Matt seemed to have taken the whole thing in stride, though Foggy couldn’t really tell. He thought he knew Matt better than anyone, but he still hadn’t learned how to decipher the meaning hidden beneath the cool façade of control Matt slid away behind at times.

Maybe _Claire_ can tell, a part of Foggy’s mind suggested viciously, as he inspected Matt’s ordered features. I _hope_ she can, another part consoled Foggy. Matt deserves someone who understands him in all of his outrageous perfection.

Foggy sighed as Matt gathered a stack of paperwork under one arm and retreated to his office. Foggy did the same, cursing himself and wishing that his self-preservation instincts hadn’t kicked into full no-homo mode, just as things had been getting good… But it wasn’t like he’d been the first one to panic at signs of gay-ness. Matt had looked so incredibly uncomfortable when Foggy had (admittedly, not very smoothly) called him attractive all those years ago, that it had just been basic decency to alleviate the situation with a sufficiently heterosexual excuse for the comment.

But still, Foggy mused, Matt hadn’t gone into immediate hetero-shock at the romantic undertones to the whole fingers-to-face ordeal. He’d actually seemed quite willing to go along with the idea. Was it just possible that Matt felt some of the same things Foggy did? Foggy’s hopeful heart wondered.

No. No it’s not, Foggy’s cynical mind answered. Now focus on your damn work and stop fantasizing about stupid perfect Matt. You’ve been doing that for years, and look where it’s got you, _nowhere_.

That wasn’t true, Foggy immediately corrected himself. It had gotten him here, and he was damn happy. He glanced through the open door to Matt’s office where he sat almost perfectly still, head bowed in concentration and a subtle tug at the corner of his mouth as he focused on absorbing the meaning of the braille running under his fingers. I may not have Matt like Claire does, Foggy comforted himself, but I have his name written badly in magic marker next to mine on the door to a crappy office, and I’ll take it. I’ll take it any day.

~~~

Matt was doing his best to focus on the bumps under his fingers and the words they were trying to convey to him, but he was too busy reeling internally at the varied interpretations his mind was churning through at the confusing episode he and Foggy had just had. He felt a little terrible for taking advantage of a somewhat unnecessary opportunity to touch Foggy’s face , but not _that_ bad, since Foggy had clearly seen the whole thing in a purely platonic light… though his heart had started to pound very fast at one point, so maybe he’d been more uncomfortable than he’d been letting on.

But he had been so cheery, bantering with Matt and laughing honestly at his awful puns, he couldn’t have been _that_ uncomfortable. But then, Foggy was always cheery, it was one of his best traits. And he used humor as a defense mechanism, so maybe he was completely weirded out the entire time and just didn’t give it away. Matt had known him for years, but he still had trouble translating the signals of Foggy’s voice and body into what he was feeling. Matt couldn’t trust his senses, because they tried to tell him traitorous things like ‘he likes you too’ while the logic of his brain and experiences told him otherwise.

Matt mentally relived Foggy’s words to Karen, and his own reaction to them. “Right,” Matt had agreed weakly to the “wingman” comment, feeling his stomach bottom out at how Foggy had straightened (all connotations of the word intended) out the moment. He briefly wondered what Claire would think about _that_ , and thought rather viciously, “see, he’s _so straight_ it’s ridiculous, goddammit.”

Foggy had smelled like the cocoa butter moisturizer he favored. Matt’s mind tossed up this fact rebelliously as he tried vainly to focus on whatever it was he was supposed to be working on. Some of us, _Matt_ , don’t have naturally perfect skin, Foggy had once declared, defending his skin care choices unnecessarily to Matt. Matt thought it was a pleasant smell, not overwhelming. Sweet. Just right for Foggy.

Matt forced himself to try and shutter in his perceptions to just the sensation of the braille under his fingertips, hoping to lock out the part of his mind waxing romantic about the poetic perfection of Foggy’s scent choices.

He wasn’t sure what he was reading, exactly, but he was going to read the _hell_ out of it, until his brain was a jumble of clauses and subsections and loopholes, and not delicate lips and a familiar heartbeat and the subtle scent of cocoa butter.

~~~

After endless, mind-numbing hours of painful struggling through pages of legalese, (Foggy thought wistfully of the charming little butcher shop he could be closing up right at this moment) Nelson and Murdock finally finished what needed to be done for the week. It was a Friday night, and they’d lost Karen a few hours back to her weekly dinner with Ben and his wife.

“Go live it up, you party animal!” Foggy had called after her, from where he was face-planted on his desk in a forest of paperwork. She laughed, and Foggy smiled, and then Matt laughed, and Foggy found the energy to drag himself back into a sitting position, if only to see his favorite person smiling. Matt had shuffled into Foggy’s office a few minutes later, with the pretense of asking Foggy some sort of technical question. However, he ended up parking himself next to Foggy’s desk, a spot he didn’t vacate until they declared victory in the war on paperwork, and Foggy knew this was Matt’s way of saying that everything was fine with them.

Foggy was grinning as he locked up after them, pleased at how easily they’d gravitated back into each other’s space. As it should be, he thought, satisfied. His good mood was apparently infectious, since Matt was sporting a handsome smile of his own as he took Foggy’s elbow and they made their way out onto the darkened streets.

Foggy made Matt laugh almost constantly as they hunted for taxis, and by the time Foggy had seen Matt safely into the back of a yellow cab, he was feeling pleasantly buzzed on the high Matt’s full-bodied, head-thrown-back laughter always gave him.

When he found his own cab and the driver asked him “where to?” Foggy realized with a groan that he should go grocery shopping. It was past ‘should,’ really, his apartment had been food-less for days, except for some old pizza that was probably a biohazard at this point. And his budget couldn’t really handle any more take out, so, he needed to go buy some beans or rice or pasta – something cheap, easy to make, cheap, and _cheap_. He sighed as he resigned himself to the fact that he wouldn’t be seeing his bed just yet. He would, in fact, be spending his Friday night doing something impossibly lamer than crawling under the covers alone, when most people his age were just getting ready for a night on the town.

Just a quick, in-and-out trip, he reassured himself. He’d grab whatever grain he saw in bulk first, and get out of there. No big deal.

~~~

“Matt, I've got more yogurt than I can handle,” Foggy announced without any preamble as soon as Matt answered his phone.

“Care to elaborate?” Matt asked patiently.

“There was a sale on the good stuff, you know the Greek kind, and I got overexcited and bought...”

“You bought…”

“Well, by my estimation…”

“Spit it out, Foggy.”

“Well, actually I was curious and piled it all on my scale…”

“Dear God.”

“It’s about 30 pounds.”

“Dear _God_.”

“Hey, isn’t that blasphemy? Shame on you.”

“Says the man who just bought thirty pounds of yogurt, I’m fairly certain that’s a cardinal sin, Foggy.”

“And I’m fairly certain that yogurt isn’t mentioned in the King James.”

“I can’t imagine you called me to debate theological texts.”

“No, I called to ask you if you cared to come over for an impromptu yogurt party.”

“Because you just purchased your body weight in yogurt on a whim.”

“Basically. And it wasn’t a _whim_ , it was just good marketing on their part.”

Matt exhaled melodramatically. “I’ll be over as soon as I can find a cab.”

“Thanks buddy!” Foggy enthused.

“Anytime, pal,” Matt couldn’t help but grin. He sighed fondly as he hung up the phone and reached for his cane, ready to steal out into the night. Not to dole out some street justice, but apparently to binge-eat yogurt with his crazy best friend. All in all, a much better night than he’d been expecting.

~~~

Foggy did a little happy dance around his apartment, too buzzed on the purchasing power of an insane quantity of yogurt to care how silly he must look.

Matt was coming over! Because Foggy had asked him to! And they were going to eat food and talk and hang out until the sun rose, like they had back in college! Like they hadn’t in a really long time. Like they had hardly done since Matt’s free nights had become an endangered species, since he had apparently begun spending all of his nighttime hours with beautiful women, as far as Foggy could tell. Not that he was bitter about it, or anything.

It occurred to him mid-twirl that maybe the awkward face-touching business at the office meant he shouldn’t be inviting his friend over to his place late in the evening, especially since they seemed to have just been able to put the weirdness behind them. But, he reasoned, it’s done now, Matt’s on his way. And Foggy really was up to his neck in yogurt that clearly needed to be eaten, right now.

A surprisingly short period of time later, Foggy heard a knock on his door, and rushed to let his best friend in.

“You’re here!” Foggy exclaimed, still pretty thrilled about the yogurt and the Matt and the everything.

“I am indeed,” Matt agreed with a smile, setting his cane next to the door and reaching out for Foggy. Foggy threaded his arm though Matt’s and tugged him towards the kitchen, where he’d set out a dozen of the tubs of yogurt with the soonest expiration dates. Foggy _could_ be logical, on occasion.

Foggy knew Matt couldn’t actually _see_ the yogurt bonanza, but judging from the expression on his face, he seemed to somehow sense the truly comical excess of dairy currently laid out in front of him.

“Foggy, how many different kinds of yogurt did you _buy_?” Matt asked as his fingers fumbled forward to find the edge of the counter and then crawl across to gingerly prod the nearest container, a tasty looking blueberry concoction.

“Well, there are currently twelve sitting in front of you, and…let’s just say my fridge is still well stocked.”

“For someone who graduated cum laude from Colombia, you are currently displaying the signs of a very serious mental imbalance.”

“Hey, my crazy is the only thing that got me through school, Matt. Some of us have to survive on more than just good looks.”

Matt shook his head and sighed fondly as his fingers trailed back across the countertop to latch onto Foggy’s sleeve. He tugged it gently, one of the small, subtle, and completely endearing signs of affection he had developed with Foggy over the years.  Foggy’s heart flip-flopped painfully as he felt a rush of warmth for the man standing beside him. Damn, now he was probably going to get all emotional every time he so much as lay eyes on yogurt. Worth it though, Foggy easily concluded.

“You know, Foggy,” Matt’s other hand wandered over to pick up another one of the yogurts, “I don’t think yogurt’s the kind of food best eaten in large quantities.” Matt sniffed the container delicately, and Foggy laughed at the way his nose crinkled up a little.

“Well, I guess we’ll find out, won’t we?” Foggy took the tub Matt had just made such a disapproving face at. “So, no low-fat grapefruit yogurt for you…”

“Ugh, grapefruit? What kind of a sick human being would even consider making that into a yogurt?” Matt stuck his chin out haughtily as he moved along the line of yogurts, apparently following his nose to a more acceptable flavor. (Can he really _smell_ the different kinds of yogurt, Foggy wondered, or is he just messing with me?)

“Wow, Matt, I had no idea you were such a yogurt snob. I should bring you grocery shopping with me, and you can help me with my dairy-related do’s and don’ts.”

“I think you should bring me with you when you grocery shop for more than just my yogurt connoisseur skills,” Matt tilted his head in a way that approximated staring pointedly at Foggy over his glasses. “Like, perhaps, for my _budgetary_ skills.”

“My budget is…”

Matt scoffed before Foggy even finished his sentence.

“…toast,” Foggy concluded, unable to feel particularly down about the sad state of his financial affairs as he watched Matt waft the Strawberry Cream towards his nose like a fine wine.

“Your budget won’t even be able to afford toast, at this rate,” Matt reprimanded Foggy, but there was no real bite to his tone.

“My budget would be able to afford _endless_ toast, if we took on clients that could actually pay us,” Foggy pointed out.

Matt made a neutral hmming noise, but his eyebrows drew together in the particular way that meant he was actually a bit hurt.

“Aw, Matt, you’re doing the squinchy eyebrow thing. I _hate_ the squinchy eyebrow thing,” Foggy shook Matt’s shoulder gently. “You know that I believe in what we’re doing. I believe in you.”

Matt’s eyebrows quickly un-squinched as he broke into a bright smile. “Thank you, Foggy. I believe in _us_. I believe we’re doing real good.”

Foggy’s heart clutched at the unexpected depth of emotion in Matt’s voice. Before Foggy’s eyes could start getting misty or anything else embarrassing, he steered the conversation to less fraught waters.

“So, in the spirit of good-doing, shall we proceed to the home theater to watch some justice be dished out?”

“You mean go to your scratchy couch and watch _Twelve Angry Men_ on the TV you stole out of a dumpster?”

“Ok, one: it was in a dumpster, so it was by definition _not_ stealing. Trust me, I’m a lawyer.” Matt snorted at that as he felt his way over to the drawer where Foggy kept his mismatched collection of silverware.

“Secondly,” Foggy continued as Matt pulled out two spoons with one hand and scooped up the Classic French Vanilla (bo- _ring_ , Foggy noted absently) with the other, “I was thinking more of _A Few Good Men_.”

“Well, it doesn’t matter much to me,” Matt shrugged, “it’s not like I can see if there are only a few as opposed to twelve men.”

“Good, because you are one of two or possibly three people on the planet who doesn’t think _Twelve Angry Men_ is absolutely the most boring movie ever made.”

“I would say that there are at least twelve other people that agree with me, and they might get a little angry about your dismissal of their Oscar nominated film.”

Foggy groaned at the terrible joke as he led Matt to the couch, carrying his own tub of Key Lime.

They sank in sync into the uncomfortable depths of Foggy’s couch, salvaged from the side of the road, and possessing that special awful shade of orange that seems endemic to cheap couches. (Probably a blessing Matt couldn’t see that, Foggy mused.) Matt tried in vain to get comfortable, turning to Foggy with a raised eyebrow. “So, there was no third part to your argument? No disputing my judgement of your couch?”

“Hell no, this thing is a scratchy piece of shit.” Matt’s head fell back in that adorable full-body laugh of his that always made Foggy go a little weak at the knees. Luckily he was already sitting down.

“Oh! I almost forgot,” Foggy struggled back onto his feet, “I actually bought something that will make this monstrosity a bit more tolerable.” He went to his closet and rummaged around for a minute.

“Is this ‘something’ another reason you and your wallet aren’t on speaking terms?”

“Definitely,” Foggy called back cheerily, as he finally found what he was looking for.

“What is it?” Matt asked impatiently, his fingers tapping the place Foggy had just vacated on the couch.

“Silk sheets, my friend,” Foggy answered, dumping the fluttering pile of fabric next to Matt.

“Oh,” was all his friend said for a minute, tentatively reaching for the cool silk. “Your wallet must have abandoned ship entirely at this.”

“That it did,” Foggy agreed, not at all sad about it as he watched the way Matt sank his fingers into the folds of the sheets, gravitating towards their softness and away from the ratty-couch-hell.

“Have my own extravagant tastes rubbed off on you?” Matt murmured, clearly still entranced by the smooth fabric.

“Naw, I don’t really notice the difference. I actually got them for you.”

Matt’s head shot up, doing that alarming thing he did where his blank eyes seemed to stare right at Foggy, through his skull and into his brain. That look set off an army of klaxons in Foggy’s head. Oh no, they shrieked, _wrong_ thing to say.

Matt’s mouth fell slowly open as he continued to not-stare at Foggy.

Whoops. Big whoops, Foggy’s internal meltdown continued. Was that creepy? Did he make that sound creepy? Oh god, it must have sounded creepy. He hadn’t bought the sheets for creepy purposes. Just in case Matt slept over for some totally innocent reason (or not so innocent, if the occasion arose, it’s not like he’d _object_ ). Now that he’s actually pulling them out, the full and complete creepiness of buying silk sheets based on the possibility that your not-romantic-partner may stay over was…well, it was a pretty serious amount of creepiness.

“I mean,” Foggy began to babble out his best attempt at hetero-damage control, “I know that cotton and stuff really bothers you, and if you ever had to crash here, I didn’t want it to be terrible, so I thought…”

“Foggy that’s…this…” Matt finally broke his silence, slowly reaching up to pull his glasses off as he spoke, “this is one of the nicest things anyone has ever done for me.” He set his tinted lenses on the table and stood decisively, closing the distance between them and wrapping his arms around Foggy in a tight, warm embrace.

Foggy was frozen for a moment before he stood down the mental red alert, and sank gratefully into the hug. Well then, his brain sputtered, this had gone way better than he’d imagined. I mean, a _hug_? This was _great_.

Matt’s face was squished against Foggy’s ear, and a lock of Matt’s hair was tickling his nose, and Foggy was content to stay exactly as they were all night.

Alas, Foggy couldn’t put the brakes on his defensive instincts, and he heard his voice say, before he could think better of it, “Matt, man, if this is the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for you, then you haven’t known many nice people.” The moment was shattered, and even though Matt smiled and nodded as he pulled away, saying “you’re right. I haven’t known a lot of nice people,” Foggy got the distinct impression that he really hadn’t said the right thing.

Matt patted Foggy’s shoulder one last time before he turned back to the couch, and began to feel along the sheets for the corners. Foggy repressed a sigh as he leaned down to assist, mentally flipping a desk at the way his stupid mouth had run off and ruined everything, as usual.

~~~

When Tom Cruise had finally finagled the truth of out Jack Nicholson, and _To Kill a Mockingbird_ ’s Gregory Peck was beginning his own dramatic courtroom speech, Foggy’s mind began to drift back to The Hug (this one being mentally capitalized due to its emotional significance as compared to past hugs.) It had seemed to be…special, hadn’t it? Maybe Matt…no. He quickly shut down any and all overly hopeful lines of thought. Matt was a good, no _great_ guy, who probably hadn’t actually met very many nice people, and was honestly impressed by Foggy’s thoughtfulness. But it had hardly involved any thought on Foggy’s part; he automatically factored Matt into most aspects of his life. Everything from how he would describe passersby to Matt, to using a particular brand of unscented detergent because other ones seemed to upset Matt’s sensitive nose, to, yes, his choice in bedding. He was Matt’s partner, he rationalized it, and they were supposed to think of life as a journey they were taking together, right?

But you’re not his partner, not _really_ , the darker corners of his mind would sometimes whisper cruelly. He has a whole bevvy of beautiful women waiting to fulfill _that_ part of his life.

Foggy briefly considered the masochistic impulse to ask Matt “So, no Claire tonight?” But he knew he _really_ didn’t want to hear the answer. So, he shoved another spoonful of Honey Salted Caramel in his mouth to keep it from opening and saying traitorous things. He did his best to focus on the dialogue, and remember to narrate the visual action for Matt, but he kept getting distracted by the fascinating shadows the flickering screen cast on Matt’s features.

Foggy definitely missed a lot of important plot points due to his muddled thoughts, but Matt didn’t seem to mind. It was late by the time the credits rolled, and they were both yawning too much to consider hunting down another DVD.

“I guess I should…be heading home,” Matt stood slowly, gesturing vaguely towards the door.

“What? No, dude, I literally _just_ told you that I bought these sheets for this exact purpose. If you don’t stay and use them, then my very angry wallet and I will hunt you down and strangle you with them.”

Matt laughed, the high sort of giggle that slipped out when he was very drunk or very sleepy. “Well, when you put it that way…” Matt belly flopped back onto the couch without any further ado.

“Do you want a pillow or anything?” Foggy asked, heading towards his bedroom.

“No…I’m fine,” came Matt’s response, muffled from where he lay prone, his face pressed against a cushion.

“Whatever, you martyr,” Foggy teased as he came back with his best, softest pillow (Foggy could make do with his old, flattened one) tossing it gently against Matt’s head.

“Thanks,” Matt sighed, lifting himself up enough to tuck the pillow under his chin before face-planting again into its downy depths.

“G’night, Matt.”

“Good night, Foggy.”

Foggy was grinning as he shucked his rumpled slacks and slipped into an old t-shirt and boxers before climbing gratefully into bed. Inside a minute, sleep overtook him, and its warm embrace felt just like Matt’s.

~~~

Matt couldn’t sleep. Not on these sheets.

They were incredible comfortable, despite the lumpy horror that lay beneath them. No, it wasn’t that. It was the way that every time he breathed they shifted slightly and the nearly silent flutter reminded him over and over again of who had bought them and why.

Foggy. Foggy had gotten them for him, but…why? Matt was thrilled about it, obviously, even if the romantic undertones Matt had grasped at hopefully were just illusions. It still meant Foggy was thinking about him, and thinking about him and bedding at the same time, and really, that could only be a good thing right?

So, Matt was happy about the sheets, but that happiness kept being drowned out by the feelings that had burned his insides at the way Foggy had ended Matt’s grateful hug. Foggy had used humor, like he always did, to back out of an awkward situation – a situation _Matt_ had made awkward when his emotion and desire had hit him like a tidal wave, swooping him to his feet and into Foggy’s arms without thinking. Not that a hug alone would have been terrible. Platonic friends hugged. But Matt had held on too long and made it weird and…

 Straight, straight, straight, the cruel mantra ran circles in his head.

But, the sheets? A tiny, painfully hopeful little voice piped up. That is honestly fairly suggestive, how can you read “too much” into someone buying you silk sheets?

Matt wondered if maybe, _maybe_ the possibility existed that Foggy wanted something, anything at all… Matt knew most people considered him to be sexually attractive, their thundering heartbeats reminded it of him all the time.  But not Foggy. Foggy’s heartbeat had remained stubbornly steady for years and years, despite Matt’s best efforts to pick up on anything that might validate some of his own feelings. Or rather, Foggy’s heartbeat _did_ go wild, almost all the time, just because of his joy for life and all its wonders – but it didn’t appear to react any differently in Matt’s presence than it did when he saw a puppy, or a heard a good joke, or ate his favorite ice cream.

But even if Foggy did feel any attraction to Matt…what if that was it? What if Foggy just wanted a friends-with-benefits thing? After all, if he’d ever considered Matt as an actual romantic partner, surely his first move (if the sheets could be considered a move) would have been something like flowers or…or whatever nice, normal people do when they want to date someone.

Matt’s tired brain spiraled down into more and more depressing depths. He wasn’t sure he could live with Foggy only wanting something physical… but maybe after they spent some more time together…aw, hell. If Foggy didn’t want a real relationship with him now, why the hell would he after he’d gotten dragged even deeper into the hellhole that was Matt’s psyche? He’d just lose Foggy, like he’d always feared he would.

Matt tried not to punch the pillow. The nice, soft pillow that smelled so strongly of Foggy it was almost overwhelming, and was probably part of the reason he was currently busy deluding himself with fantasies that Foggy could ever feel anything more than friendship for someone like him.

No, it was better to just keep things the way they were, he managed to convince himself by the time the sun had begun to peek over the top of the apartments across the streets. Better not to tempt fate with ill-advised romantic endeavors. Matt held the pillow tightly, and as his conscious mind finally drifted to sleep, his unconscious one imagined that he was holding his best friend instead.

~~~

Foggy woke up the next morning to find his home empty and Matt-less.  The silk sheets were folded neatly on the couch, and the mess of dishes and empty yogurt containers that had littered his living room had somehow migrated into the sink.

Foggy sighed, his hopes of a friendly breakfast with Matt and maybe even the possibility of spending the day together evaporated as he looked around, wondering where he’d left his phone.

It only took a moment for him to realize it was sitting atop the sheets, and there was one new voicemail blinking on it from Matt. Foggy tapped the screen a little too vigorously, eager to hear his friend’s voice, even if he’d been cheated out of experiencing it in person.

“Hey, Foggy. Sorry to leave without saying goodbye, but I didn’t want to wake you. I locked up after myself. You really should put your extra key in a more secure location, I mean, a blind guy could see where it is. Oh, and by the way, I think you’ve put me off yogurt for life. I’ll see you on Monday.”

And there it was, the subtle brush off. Foggy sighed again, loudly, since no one was there to judge him. Matt apparently had better things to do than spend time with Foggy, but what else was new? They hadn’t spent a night drinking or hanging out or anything in what felt like forever – which was part of what made last night feel so special.

But now things were back to the new normal – Foggy would see Matt at work, and then Matt would leave. Probably to go be with his girls – with Claire. Foggy would bet his (admittedly meager) life’s savings that Claire was the reason Matt had become even more distant lately, spending more and more time doing unknown things at unknown locations at late hours, and skirting around the topic whenever Foggy brought it up.

And it wasn’t as if that was something new, either. Matt had always had a secretive personality, and even in their college days he was prone to inexplicable nighttime jaunts – a proclivity Foggy didn’t think most blind men had.  But lately, his tendency towards half-truths and flimsy excuses for not hitting the bars or doing any of the things he and Foggy used to do had become even more pronounced. Was this what Foggy’s life was going to be like, now that it appeared Matt had found someone to be with in a serious way? Did the inclusion of a real girlfriend in Matt’s life mean cutting Foggy out of it? Matt _was_ Foggy’s life, in so many ways, he’d long ago given up trying to deny it. He’d followed Matt in and out the doors of Landman and Zach, and he’d stuck with him as they built Nelson and Murdock but…this was different. This was somewhere Foggy couldn’t follow.

Foggy decisively passed over the fridge on his hunt for breakfast, going directly for the freezer. He was going to need something more serious than yogurt to get him through his current pity party – this called for ice cream. Not exactly a balanced breakfast, but what the hell.

He pulled out a half-gallon of cheap Kemps mint chip and settled down on the couch with the Saturday morning cartoons, and tried not to think about his stupid perfect handsome law partner with his stupid perfect handsome face and how his stupid perfect handsome self didn’t belong to Foggy. It belonged to Claire.

~~~~

Matt swung back in through his window on Sunday night (actually, Monday morning), only wincing a little bit at the light bruising on his side that he’d gotten from the drug smugglers he’d taken down the night before. Nothing sprained, broken, or cut though, so overall, a good outing. He was content. Matt headed towards the bathroom, only detouring on his way to a much-needed shower long enough to grab his phone and check his messages.

He’d just started stripping off his gloves when his phone’s computerized voice informed him: “17 unread messages from Foggy.” Matt froze, his mind already jumping to the worst possible conclusions he could draw from such an overabundance of texts. His fingers shook slightly as he tapped the screen with one hand and gripped his gloves tightly in the other, ready to spring back out the window and into action, if needed.

“picked up what i thought was a bit of lint off of my desk” the robotic voice read the message dispassionately.

“it wasn’t lint”

“it was a spider”

Matt sighed, leaning against the cool tile of the bathroom wall as his momentary panic abated. A spider. Ok. Foggy didn’t require masked help to deal with an arachnid.

“i threw said spider in a panic” the next message read.

“i threw it to an unknown location”

“an unknown location in my home”

“there is a spider somewhere”

“somewhere”

“you understand my problem”

Well, maybe Foggy could use some help after all, Matt thought, shaking his head fondly as his dragged his shirt off and the rest of the messages played.

“ok the spider has been found call off the alarms”

“the city is safe once again”

“I didn’t kill the spider if ur curious”

“its not its fault it was born a terrifying lil bastard its just trying to do its job”

“its living on the curb outside now”

“hope its happy”

“can spiders be happy?”

“matt how can you not be answering my very important bug related questions i thought we were friends”

When Matt giggled (not at all like a schoolgirl with a crush, he told himself) as he quickly tapped out a response, his thumbs flying over the braille keypad.

“Sorry I missed the great spider debacle. Glad to hear you made it out unscathed. And, I think I should point out that spiders aren’t bugs, they’re arachnids.”

Only a few seconds later, Matt’s phone beeped with Foggy’s response.

“Oh NOW you answer! When you have something to criticize! I see how it is”

“Sorry, buddy.” Matt responded, his shower forgotten for the time being. “And, I am glad to hear that the spider is now living its little life out in peace. You are very kind.”

“Damn straight I am”

“Modest too.”

“Fuck yeah.” There was a pause in the banter before another message from Foggy dinged on the screen. “so, doing anything exciting, while I was having my arachnid crisis?”

“nothing much.” Matt answered, sort of honestly. It hadn’t been that exciting a night, compared to others. “Nothing that could compete to your epic drama.”

“ok”

Matt wondered if he was paranoid, or reading too much into Foggy’s response, because he felt that the lone word was somehow…hostile.

“but I look forward to hearing about the entire spider incident in full detail at the office in the morning,” Matt quickly sent back. “Smell you tomorrow?”

Matt hoped Foggy would laugh at the terrible in-joke they’d spawned when Foggy had been overly fond of cologne in his college days and Matt had remarked that he couldn’t see Foggy coming but he sure could smell him. If Foggy laughed, then the discomfort between them that Matt may or may not be imagining would probably dissipate.

“smell you tomorrow, pal. ;)” Popped up on Matt’s phone, and he felt his chest begin to unclench by degrees. A winky face, he thought, almost sighing in relief. So, all was well.

Matt turned towards his neglected shower, feeling at peace once again.


	3. A Close Call

Matt was not feeling at all at peace the next morning when, with no warning except the telltale beat of her heart that Matt picked up when she began to climb the stairs to their office, Claire showed up with a big smile and a pastry bag.

“Hey, guys, I was in the neighborhood, and I thought you might be hungry?” She waved the bag enticingly, and Matt cursed his traitorous stomach for rumbling at the tantalizing smell of freshly baked dough.

“That’s so sweet!” Karen chirped, and Matt heard the squeak and scrape of Karen hopping out of her chair to swing around her desk and retrieve the pastries.

“Hey look,” Karen called to Foggy, who had just stepped out of his office, “she brought some bear claws, your favorite!”

Matt stepped a little hesitantly out of his own office, his blood chilled at the threat of his and Claire’s bet hanging in the air between them.

“Yes, Matt told me they were your favorite, Foggy. He talks about you so much, I feel like I know more about _you_ than I do about him!” Claire laughed, and Matt gripped the frame of the door tight enough to turn his knuckles white.

However, he was momentarily diverted from his rising unease by the way Foggy’s heartbeat perked up at her comment.

“Really? Matt told you that?” Foggy sounded distinctly pleased at the thought, and now it was Matt’s heart that was picking up speed.

“Oh, Matt’s told me _everything_ ,” Claire arched an eyebrow at Matt, who stood his ground, not sure exactly what was happening, or how he should feel about it. Or if he needed to toss a certain person out on her ass before she said anything too damning.

“Well, I hope not _everything_ ,” Foggy laughed, sounding much more at ease than Matt felt, “or that could have gotten embarrassing.”

“Oh, it did,” Claire confirmed, a teasing lilt in her voice. Foggy laughed again, and Matt focused with laser-intensity on the sound, analyzing it.

It sounded earnest. Foggy sounded truly happy. Foggy was honestly happy to know that Matt talked about him to Claire. What could this mean? Well, one part of Matt was popping champagne corks in joy, even as another began to construct the argument that Foggy was pleased because he _liked_ Claire, and wanted to get to know her better. That made more sense, Matt quickly concluded, what little happiness that had burst to life in his chest fading almost instantly. Claire was an incredible, beautiful woman, and Foggy was a red-blooded American male. It was much more logical that Foggy’s happiness was an indication of some feelings for Claire, than it being some sort of convoluted sign of affection for his oddball blind best friend.

Damn, if only hope sprung less eternal, Matt groused, while trying his best to put on a friendly public face. He was going to destroy himself, fantasizing like this.

~~~

Foggy was going to kill himself, wishing like this. Wishing that Matt talking about him to Claire meant anything more than…well, that it meant anything.

Foggy couldn’t help but be a bit entranced by the pastries’ luscious smell, and even as he took a huge bite out of one of the fresh bear claws, he cursed himself for being so easily bought

Foggy’s quickly plummeting mood halted its downward tumble, however, when he noticed the way Matt was acting. Not moving any closer to Claire, only smiling his flattest, blandest smile at her comments. Nothing like the way Karen was practically glowing, gushing over Claire’s every word.

Foggy didn’t bother feeling guilty over the pleasure that bloomed in his chest as he observed Matt and Claire’s almost adversarial stance towards each other. They barely exchanged two words, letting Karen keep up a bubbly stream of chatter.

Perhaps Matt and Claire’s relationship wasn’t as serious as Foggy had feared it to be. Was there trouble in paradise? He wondered with barely repressed glee.

When Claire left only a few minutes later, waving a friendly goodbye to Karen but barely sparing a glance in Matt’s direction, Foggy couldn’t help letting out an internal whoop of victory. This was great! Foggy briefly felt a touch of guilt at what a pitifully jealous turn his inner thoughts had taken.

As Matt’s friend, he should be concerned for his emotional health. But really, he easily rationalized, it would be better in the long run for Matt to end it now, rather than wait and get his heart broken. Because she seemed the heartbreaking type, didn’t she?

No, Foggy’s more logical side reprimanded him swiftly, she actually seems quite lovely in a personal sense as well as the physical. Shut up, logical side, Foggy grumped.

The logical side did not shut up, further contributing to the renewed sinking feeling in Foggy’s stomach as it also pointed out that since Matt had never brought his girlfriends around before, maybe he simply wasn’t comfortable with those two sides of his life mixing. Maybe he didn’t yet know how to handle the interaction of the two worlds, but he cared about Claire enough to try.

And, now Foggy was back to his worst case scenario, which announced its arrival with the mournful clanging of wedding bells. Maybe the way Matt’s shoulders were relaxing now wasn’t because he and Claire were stressed, but was because it was stressful to keep the parts of his life separate.

But if he really _was_ serious about Claire, then why wouldn’t he want her around his friends? Karen clearly liked her a lot, and Foggy…

Oh God. Was it that Matt didn’t want her around Foggy? Did he somehow know about Foggy’s feelings? Did _Claire_ know? Is that what she was secretly saying to Foggy, that she knew he was obsessed with her boyfriend?

In under a minute, Foggy had gone from choreographing a victory dance to a funeral dirge. Foggy was so involved in imagining the worst and feeling sorry for himself, he didn’t even notice Matt approaching until he laid a hand on Foggy’s shoulder.

“How’s the bear claw?” Matt asked, casual and totally unaware of Foggy’s spiraling anxiety.

“Oh! It’s great!” It was, unfortunately. Stupid perfect beautiful Claire really was as thoughtful as stupid perfect handsome Matt. What a pair. “It was really nice of her to stop by. And nice of you to mention these were my favorites to her. You must really love me.”

 _What_. As Matt’s eyes widened behind his glasses, Foggy was struck with a powerful urge to jump out the window, because apparently, he couldn’t stay cool for even a single minute. “Love” was not a word to be dropped carelessly around Matt when Foggy’s entire mind was in a state of Matt-induced chaos. _Why_ did his mouth suffer from a complete disconnect from his brain? What had he done to be cursed like this?

“Uh, yeah, Foggy,” was all Matt seemed able to say. Even as Foggy managed to summon up a weak smile, he was beating his head fervently against the wall in his mind. Stupid. Dumb. Mouth.

“I mean, not like you love _her_ , though, right? She brings you pastries at work _and_ she’s a total babe. Because she _is_ a total babe, though I’m sure you know that. Know it, _intimately_. You lucky bastard.” Foggy tried not to lay the heterosexuality on too thick, but he was getting a bit panicked at the look on Matt's face. What was that look? What did it mean? Foggy didn’t have a complete lexicon of Matt’s facial expressions, but he wasn’t eager to add whatever this new one was to his collection.

“Ah, yeah, Claire’s…Claire’s something else, alright,” Matt still sounded a bit faint, and Foggy groped desperately for something safely non-romantic to say. Something work related, maybe something about tax law, Matt hated tax law…

“Hey, guys?” Karen stuck her head around the corner, “I just got a call from your friend down at the police station…”

“Brett?” Matt and Foggy responded in unison. Well, Matt is clearly just as eager to move past this as I am, Foggy thought. Great.

“Yes! Brett he said the uh…the…” Karen wiggled her fingers, searching for some word before giving up, “the whatevers you were looking for, for the Diaz case, he found them. And you can go look at them.”

“Ah, yes, the whatevers. Crucial,” Foggy noted sagely.

“Shut up,” Karen made to thwack Foggy’s shoulder with a file folder, “I’ll pick up on all this crazy lawyer lingo sooner or later.”

“I have no doubt,” Matt agreed kindly, as he headed for the door.

“And sooner, rather than later, I’d bet,” Foggy added, “you’re doing great Karen, really.” He smiled and patted her arm as he followed Matt out.

“Thanks, Foggy.” Karen flashed him one of her shy smiles from under her curtain of blonde hair, and Foggy felt a little better. Well, maybe Matt had Claire, but at least Foggy had Karen… if not in the same sense.

As the two made their way out onto the street, Foggy noticed Matt was looking at him a little strangely again. Damn. It’s not like he’d said anything _that_ weird. They’d been friends for a long time, it was ok for best friends to say they loved each other, right? Foggy knew he’d said it before. It just slipped out, naturally, a few times, and it wasn’t until hours later that it would hit him how very much he loved Matt. That was when he’d have his little mental breakdowns, like this one.  And this breakdown too, shall pass, Foggy consoled himself as they hailed a cab and headed to the police station.

~~~~~

The police station wasn’t a bust, exactly, but the “whatevers” they’d been sent for turned out to mainly be case files that held more questions than answers. Although a bit of legwork was just what Matt needed to get his mind off the whole Claire-Foggy-bet debacle, it did lead to Matt and Foggy annoying Brett within an inch of his life. They spent hours requesting additional files, asking if there was any other evidence that might have been filed elsewhere, wondering if it would be possible to speak with the officer who took this statement – until Brett got entirely fed up and kicked them “out of his damn station until they came back with a police badge instead of a bad attitude.”

“Rude,” Foggy sniffed as they wandered down the street, both carrying piles of hastily retrieved papers.

“Well, he pulled an unexpected double shift, most people aren’t in the best mood when they’re exhausted,” Matt replied idly, before stifling a yawn. Matt knew a lot about exhaustion, lately, although the Russian mob apparently didn’t. Damn bastards never seemed to sleep.

“What? How do you know that?” Foggy asked, confused. If it weren’t for years of lying and covering his tracks, Matt would have stopped dead as he realized his blunder. He could smell that Brett’s clothes were two days old, that he was unshowered, and a dozen other physical signs of sleep deprivation. It was a simple deduction. One that he normally wouldn’t just _share_ with Foggy without a reasonable explanation for his knowledge. God, he really did need sleep.

“Oh, I uh, heard one of the other officers say something,” Matt covered smoothly. He’d long ago learned that the key to lying convincingly to Foggy was to avoid detail – Foggy excelled at picking up on odd details, so the vaguer the better. And it worked.

“Ah,” Matt sensed Foggy nod, the lie accepted as truth. Matt was briefly grateful for the ease the years of dishonesty had given him, before the corresponding years of guilt caught up and started clawing at his insides. He gripped Foggy’s sleeve a little tighter, an instinctive movement born of a deep-seated fear that Foggy would run away from him, someday, when he learned the truth. Any of the truths.

That train of thought reminded him of the bullet he’d narrowly dodged with Claire at the office that day. The sound of her heartbeat had nearly sent him into cardiac arrest when he realized that she might be coming to make a move on Karen. But Claire had left with only the subtlest of flirting with his pretty secretary, and Matt had breathed easy once again. He was mildly thrilled to see that Claire apparently didn’t have the guts to do the deed, but he was more occupied with berating himself for making, baiting, and then stepping right into the ridiculous death trap of a bet that he’d proposed.

The possibility that the whole absurd scenario was his subconscious trying to rid him of one of his too many secrets crept up from the back of his mind, but he locked the thought away again. Even his subconscious couldn’t be _that_ suicidal. Beating up crooks in dark alleys barehanded is one thing, but talking about his _feelings_ to _Foggy_? That was a whole other, much scarier, beast.

“So, where to now, mi amigo?” Foggy’s voice cut through Matt’s mess of distracted thoughts. “Shall we return to the office to rummage through our spoils?” Matt heard the flutter of papers as Foggy waved them at him.

“It’s getting a bit late…how about we grab a bite instead?” Matt tried for nonchalance but overshot a bit, landing firmly in trying-too-hard territory.

Luckily, Foggy was cheerfully oblivious, quickly agreeing, “I've eaten Riceroni three times this week, I'm more rice than man. Eating out sounds _incredible_.”

They quickly found themselves at the best hole-in-the-wall pizza place in Hell’s Kitchen, tucked comfortably in the corner next to the window and splitting their mutual favorite, pineapple and feta pizza.

“God, I love this place,” Foggy almost moaned around a huge bite, and Matt flashed back violently to the way the word “love” had sounded coming from Foggy’s mouth in reference to himself. Did it sound different than now, when it was directed at food? No. It sounded innocent and platonic then, just as it did now. I’m just pizza, Matt thought despairingly.

“Why does anyone eat at any other pizza place, ever,” Foggy wondered out loud, as Matt fought the urge to wipe a spot of sauce from Foggy’s chin – now, _that_ would be hard to explain for a whole truckload of reasons.

“No idea,” Matt mumbled. He was exhausted, and in a questionable emotional state, and doing everything he could to try and block out the wailing siren and cries for help that clawed at his ears through the meaningless barrier of the window. Normally, spending time with Foggy when he was in a state like this was ideal. Foggy had a special way of grounding Matt, when he felt like he was going to float away in a terrible haze of noise and vibration and smell, agonized screams and the stench of burning.

But now…now he had gone and made Foggy part of the sensory overload. Over the years, he’d schooled himself not to get lost in the sensations: Foggy’s shampoo, the swish of his hair, the soft, wet sounds of his mouth breaking into a smile, the comforting thump of his heartbeat, the gentle rasp of his breath, the warmth radiating from his body… But the way Claire had poked at his feelings for Foggy, feelings so long shut away…it had been like opening Pandora’s Box, and there was just no way of shoving it all back in. So, really, there was only one thing to do – convince himself, once and for all, that Foggy was 100%, unavailable, uninterested, and just generally unattainable. Ok. He could do that. He’d had lots of practice.

“So, Karen…” Matt began tentatively.

“Mmrph?” Foggy replied through a mouthful of crust.

“She’s doing very well. Great, in fact.”

“Yeah, she’s a real life saver,” Foggy agreed pleasantly.

“So, you, uh…you like her?” Matt tried not to let his trepidation at the answer show.

“Well, _duh_ , Matt. I thought that was obvious.”

“Huh. Yeah, well, I just wanted to be sure.”

“Well, I’m sure. She’s something special, just like your Claire.”

 _Just like your Claire_. The previously enticing scent of warm pizza suddenly began to turn Matt’s stomach. So, he hadn’t been having some sort of auditory hallucination when he thought he heard Foggy’s heartbeat ratchet up the other day when Karen had walked into the room. Foggy _did_ like Karen. Good, that was…that was good. Sure, Matt wanted to throw himself under a bus a little, or crawl into bed with a bottle of Jack at the very least but this was…good. Exactly what he needed, to excise this cancerous feeling eating away at his heart.

“Well, I hope that it works out with you two, then,” Matt tried to inject some cheer into his voice, but just sounded bitter to his ears.

Foggy choked loudly and violently on his pizza. “Wait…what? Me and Karen?”

“Uh…” Matt didn’t respond, just sat on the edge of his seat where he’d been poised to leap across the table and rescue Foggy from his treacherous food, if necessary.

“That is not…we’re not…Karen’s great, but I don’t think about her like that. Karen and I are just friends, really. Like, _really_ ,” Foggy emphasized his point by thumping his palm on the table, a habit he’d picked up when he’d realized that his usual energetic hand gestures were lost on his blind friend.

“Oh. Oh! My mistake. Are you…sure?” Matt could barely force the words out of his mouth, “I mean, you’d make a nice couple…”

“No, we wouldn’t. I mean, yes, we might but we don’t…I mean, we’re kind of…unavailable?” Foggy’s voice lilted up at the end, making his statement sound more like a question.

“Oh, then…there’s…someone else?” No, _please_ , begged the part of Matt that had been jumping for joy at Foggy’s heartfelt denial of feelings for Karen.

“Ah…no…I meant…I didn’t mean literally, just…” Foggy’s words trailed off, and even if Matt couldn’t hear the way Foggy’s pulse was skyrocketing, he’d have known he was lying. Foggy was generally a terrible liar, being an infrequent one, and this time was no different. A moment later, Foggy had tacked onto some other topic, quickly diving into a hearty rant on something Matt couldn’t bring himself to care about, maybe a sport or maybe politics, Matt was too busy losing his mind.

You’re supposed to be _glad_ , he tried desperately to convince himself. You’re supposed to be cutting these feelings free, cutting _yourself_ free from this damned romantic-ball-and-chain.

But Foggy’s seeing someone else.

But this is a good development, the more firmly ensconced Foggy is in this relationship, the easier it will be for Matt to move on.

But Foggy’s seeing someone else. How had Matt not noticed? He would have caught the scent on Foggy’s clothes, his skin, if he’d been close to someone. He’d definitely have caught it if Foggy had been intimate with someone. So, not that serious a relationship then. Maybe just a first date, and that’s why he hadn’t told Matt. Because he told Matt everything. Didn’t he?

“Hey, Matt, you doin’ ok, buddy? You look a little pale?” Foggy’s tone was filled with honest concern, and Matt’s stomach heaved more strongly with how badly he wanted to run away, or maybe kiss Foggy, or maybe just cry.

“I uh…I’m actually not feeling great. I think I should go home,” Matt climbed quickly to his feet, fumbling for his cane as the pizzeria’s cacophony of smells and sounds began to descend on his senses as his mind continued to whirl.

“Hey, whoa, let me help!” Foggy grabbed Matt’s cane and shoved it in Matt’s right hand, then took his left elbow and guided him swiftly, but gently out into the blessedly cool air of the street. The idea of crying looked more and more likely as Matt continued to reel internally, the almost tender way Foggy held his arm not helping a bit. He heard the sounds of Foggy calling a cab like it was at the end of a long tunnel, and barely registered that Foggy followed him into the back of the car, even as he directed the driver to Matt’s address.

“You…you’re coming with?”

“Uh, _yeah_ , I’m coming with, you look like you’re about to upchuck, or faint. Seriously, Matt I’m not letting you out of my sight.” Matt came damn near to tearing up at that, and actually had to hold his breath to force back the moisture when Foggy put an arm around his shoulders and pulled him close.

“I gotcha, buddy. I guess we figured out why people eat pizza elsewhere, eh?” Matt nodded his agreement, using the movement as an excuse to nuzzle his face deeper into the dip between Foggy’s shoulder and neck. Matt knew it wasn’t food poisoning that had his world collapsing in on him. And it wasn’t just the bone-deep exhaustion, borne of living a violent double life, which he’d been fighting for weeks, either. It was a weariness of the heart. He was sad and he was lonely, and he didn’t ever want Foggy to let go. So, Matt breathed in Foggy’s scent, individual like every person has, but better than everyone else’s, and he let his body relax into the safety of Foggy’s heat.

~~~

Matt wasn’t entirely sure if the jackhammer was in his head, or outside of it. After a few moments of gathering his senses, he placed the sound about two blocks away, accompanied by the crunching of concrete and a cornucopia of other headache-inducing noises. Matt was in his bed, in his apartment. Was he alone? Matt scanned the apartment briefly – no other heartbeats.

It took him a minute to remember the night before. Ah, yes, now he recalled rather clearly how he had kicked a sweetly worried Foggy out rather rudely, insisting his tender ministrations were uncalled for, and almost literally slamming the door on his face. Because as much as he had wanted to hold onto Foggy and never let go, he needed to cry and maybe scream a lot more.

And he had, and now he felt scraped out and empty, which he wasn’t sure was much better than the previous night’s emotional hurricane. Matt crawled reluctantly out of bed, wondering how badly he’d hurt Foggy’s feelings. Not bad enough, he hoped, to have sent him into the arms of whatever lady love he’d acquired in his spare time.

Matt leaned heavily on his kitchen counter, mid-way though making his coffee as he realized with a heavy sinking feeling that he was still completely hung up on the feelings/Foggy debacle. He gave up on the coffee maker, dragging himself into a suit and making a beeline for his favorite café for some caffeinated indulgence. He would need a double espresso at least, to make it through today.


	4. Paying Up

Then again, maybe having tightly strung nerves and an abundance of anxious energy wasn’t the way to go about dealing with his problems, Matt considered rather too late, as he bounced into the office that morning.

“Well, you look pretty chipper, considering,” Karen noted as Matt dumped his cane unceremoniously in the corner.

“Ah, caffeinated is probably more accurate. And, what do you mean?”

“Oh, just that Foggy said you weren’t feeling well last night. He seemed pretty worried, but you seem just fine.”

“Oh, that, yeah. Dinner just didn’t sit well with me, I’m hale and hearty today. Where, uh, where is Foggy?” Matt didn’t actually need to ask, he’d picked up on the telltale thump of Foggy’s heartbeat at the Starbucks down the street several minutes ago. Looked like he wasn’t the only one looking for comfort in the depths of overpriced bean water.

“He went to grab a coffee, said he’ll be back soon to continue working on the Diaz case. Oh, speaking of, here.” Karen handed him a stack of braille-printed papers, which Matt made a half-hearted effort towards appearing to flick through. He wondered if he’d be able to focus on something as mundane-seeming as work, when all of his carefully constructed psychological walls were crumbling like they hadn’t been built to code. He should sue himself for such shoddy construction.

“So,” Matt forced himself to strike up conversation, hoping it would help get his mind back on track, “did you do anything exciting last night?”

“Yeah, actually I went out to dinner with someone.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah.”

Matt paused shuffling the papers, lifting his head as he heard Karen’s heartbeat accelerate. Nervous, he deduced, but why? “You seem a little…off. Did it go well?”

“Yes. Yes! It went very well.”

“Good. I’m glad.”

“Mmm.” Karen just sounded more anxious, and now Matt was a little worried as well as mystified. He fixed his senses on her, and quickly noted a scent that didn’t belong on her. It wasn’t _wrong_ , exactly, in fact, it was…familiar?

“Is there something you want to tell me? Something…else?” he prompted her.

“Oh, uh…” Matt heard the brush of fabric as Karen fidgeted nervously before suddenly blurting out, “The dinner was with Claire.”

“Oh.” Well, that explained the scent. For a moment, Matt didn’t register the full weight that statement held for him. Then it began to sink in. “ _Oh_.”

“Yeah, she, she just ran into me outside of the office, said there was something that she’d forgotten to tell you, but then just out of the blue, she asks if I’m a fan of Italian, and before I know it we’re eating Fettuccini and laughing and we had a great time…”

Karen paused, and Matt suspected she was trying to gauge his reaction. Well, he’d tell her when he figured it out himself, though panic was a strong contender at the moment.

“Yeah, we’re uh, we’re kind of a…thing. I think. I mean, I know it was only one date, but it was really great, and she said she was excited about it too, and she, uh, she kissed me…” Karen’s words petered out as she apparently relived that memory, and Matt had to cough meaningfully a few times to bring her back to the present.

“Oh! Sorry! She’s just kind of…dreamy, you know? So strong, and beautiful…though you already knew that, I guess.”

Matt shuffled uncomfortably, as he tried to quell the terror rising in his chest shouting ‘She did it! She actually did it! She won! Claire _won_! _She won, this is a disaster, do you know what this means_!’

“Ohmigod I’m sorry!” Karen burst out, and Matt heard a soft clapping noise as she threw her hand over her mouth. “That sounded terrible,” she whispered through her fingers, “She told me you guys were together for a bit and now…”

“Karen, really it’s alright –” Matt tried to console her, and himself, for very different reasons.

“I don't want this to be awkward,” Matt felt the swish of air that meant she was now waving her hands around, apparently working herself into a state, “I know she's still your friend and everything...”

“No, no, I'm really, truly happy for you, Karen, don’t worry about that.” Seriously, he thought a little hysterically, you’ll have a lot more to worry about when Foggy punches me in the face, or however he reacts when I tell him…oh god how can I tell him why did I agree to this oh god…

“Yeah?” Karen’s anxious tone interrupted his mental breakdown, “Cause you seem kind of upset...”

“Oh, no, ah, it's just, ah…” Matt shuffled backwards, not needing to pretend to be a clumsy-blind-man as he tripped and stumbled away, “It’s just reminded me of something I promised someone I'd do.” He scuffled away to the sanctuary of his office in a haze, and moved to check his phone. Almost supernaturally, the phone buzzed in his hand with a text message from Claire. He turned the volume down as low as it would go, and played it next to his ear. In a robotic monotone, it read: “go get him lover boy.”

Dammit, he berated himself. He should have been coming up with a plan of attack this entire time. How could he bet on Claire’s cowardice when he had heard with his own ears her standing up to the damned Russian mob? And now…he _could_ back out on his word, after all, what would Claire be able to do? Sue him?

But maybe…maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad thing to clear the air. Maybe his subconscious _had_ been weighed down with too many lies lately, and that’s why he’d been the one to come up with the ridiculous bet in the first place. It sure as hell was why he’d had a virtual breakdown the night before.

Yes, he sighed to himself, pinching the bridge of his nose, maybe this was a disaster, but it was a disaster of his own making, and one that had brewing for a while. Might as well just bite the bullet, get it over with. It’s not like Foggy would _actually_ punch him, probably. He wasn’t a violent person.

And, a tiny voice piped up in the back of his head, there’s always the chance that he’ll feel the same way! Shut up, the other, louder voices barked, stamping on the spark of hope. If Foggy felt the same way, he’d have made it known a long time ago, they argued rather convincingly. Just prepare for the worst and accept your lonely fate.

That was a bit melodramatic, Matt scolded the voices, before realizing he was conversing with himself in his head, and decided to school his thoughts back to some ordering of sanity.

So, to the issue at hand. Matt tapped his fingers nervously on the edge of his desk as he pondered the question before him: how to do this in a way that would cause the least amount of irreparable damage to his relationship with his best friend.

~~~

Foggy came back to the office to find it was still Matt-less.

“Matt hasn’t come in yet?” He asked Karen as he sipped his coffee, trying to appear casual and not deeply worried about his best friend – his best friend who’d been acting downright bizarre not ten hours ago.

“Oh, he did. He just popped out, said he wanted to grab something.”

“Oh, ok,” Foggy tried not to sound too relieved that Matt was, at least, alive and well enough to come into work.

Not a moment later, Matt swung the door open behind Foggy.

“Well, speak of the devil!” Foggy exclaimed, hoping if he sounded happy enough it would rub off on Matt – the guy had been strung so tight lately.

“Wh-what?” the color had just rushed from Matt’s face, and he looked like he was about to crush the small cardboard box he held in his hands.

“Karen just told me you were out,” Foggy explained, and Matt relaxed his death grip on the box, though he still looked a little shaken. “You feelin’ better, buddy? Cause you still look a little under the weather…”

“What? No, I’m fine, I just…uh,” Matt shoved the box towards the space about half a foot to Foggy’s right. “I went and got donuts. Your favorite, from _Le Petit Cherie_. To apologize.”

“Wow, Matt, thanks!” Foggy eagerly grabbed the box, “but uh, what are you apologizing for?”

“For acting so rudely last night,” Matt explained as Foggy dug in, offering the box to Karen, who delicately selected a glazed twist.

“Oh, please,” Foggy waved the notion away with a powdered sugar covered hand, “everyone’s a little crabby when they’re sick.”

“Well, sorry anyway,” Matt twiddled his cane between his hands, a nervous habit that sent up a small red flag on Foggy’s Matt-dar.

“You got something you wanna talk about Matt?” Foggy probed gently.

“Oh! Yes, actually, uh…nothing major just…” Matt shrugged, far too expansively for it to actually be convincingly casual.

“Well, please, come into my office, make yourself at home,” Foggy led Matt into the small, slightly stuffy offshoot of their main room, shutting the frosted glass door behind him. He got the distinct feeling that whatever had Matt buying apologetic donuts and twitching with nervous energy was something to be discussed in private.

Matt lowered himself slowly into one of the room’s two rickety old chairs, clutching the armrests to the point that his knuckles turned white and the wood creaked ominously. Wow, what had his boxers in a twist? Foggy wondered, pulling his chair around from behind his desk to plop into it across from Matt.

“So, what is it you wanted to talk about, Matt?” Foggy asked, keeping his tone light and pleasant in the hopes it would help sooth Matt before he did real damage to their very limited office furniture.

Matt blew out a long, slow breath, leaning forward in his seat and taking his glasses off, tucking them away in his suit jacket. Foggy’s pulse jumped up a few notches. Taking the glasses off – this was serious business.

“What I have to say is…will be…somewhat…well, I don’t actually know how you’ll react to what I have to say, which is part of the reason I haven’t said it. It might come as especially awkward given your recent…romantic entanglements…”

“What? Matt I told you I wasn’t seeing anyone,” Foggy insisted. “I mean, I wish I was, but…I’m not.” Well, that sure as hell was the truth, if minus a few key points.

“Hmm.” Matt looked a little surprised and maybe…relieved? His face was doing a lot of strange things, and Foggy was having a hell of a time getting a read on the situation.

“Well,” Matt continued, “that will make this marginally easier.” Matt took another deep breath, and the possibility occurred to Foggy that now might be a good time to go into panic mode. After all, he hadn’t seen Matt this serious since…well, he couldn’t quite remember. Maybe that night in college when they’d gotten a bit tipsy and Matt had opened up for the first and only time to Foggy about how he’d felt when he lost his sight and his father in quick, agonizing succession. Really, the only thing Foggy had ever seen make Matt act this way was… _feelings_.

Oh no. Did Matt’s blind guy ESP somehow pick up on Foggy’s longing? Oh god, was he about to call him out for being a…a…Foggy wasn’t even sure what exactly Matt would call him out on, but he was sure it would be awful and -

“I’m bisexual.” The words nearly exploded out of Matt’s mouth, and he immediately began to shrink back in his chair, away from Foggy, like he was expecting a blast wave.

Foggy shook his head, his ears seeming to ring a little because – what? He had no idea where this conversation was going, even if he _had_ heard Matt correctly, which he was fairly sure he hadn’t.

“Say again?” was the only response Foggy could muster up.

Matt licked his lips and closed his eyes as he repeated slowly, “I am bisexual.”

“Ok.” Foggy nodded, trying not to let it show in his voice that at least a dozen emotions were exploding in his chest around the burning wreckage that was his train of thought.

“Ok, as in…” Matt’s empty eyes flickered nervously around the room, and Foggy spared a neuron to continue worrying that Matt was going to actually break his chair’s armrests.

“As in that’s ok. Fine. Cool. More than that, actually. It’s, you know…good.” Foggy just barely managed to cut off his babbling before it got anymore incriminating.

“Good? Good. Good. I was, uh, I mean…I was in the closet for years and…I’ve known for a while but uh…I didn’t really know how to tell you.”

“You can tell me anything, Matt,” Foggy responded automatically, because it was true: he could handle anything, including, apparently, the revelation that Matt was interested in men. A miracle. And a tragedy, since he was interested in _men_ , but not, it seemed, in _Foggy_. Great.

“That’s not all,” Matt went on darkly. Oh God. Foggy’s stomach dropped impossibly lower. Does he have a secret boyfriend? What about Claire?

“I’ve had certain…feelings… for years too…and I mean _years_. I don’t know if I was just repressing them along with everything else, or if I honestly didn’t realize it because I’m an idiot when it comes to, uh, matters of the heart…you get that Foggy, don’t you?”

Foggy made a sort of “umm” noise, the best he could sum up with the limited mental resources he had left that weren’t devoted to analyzing Matt’s every word and subsequently freaking out about them.

“And you deserve to know…you’ve deserved to know for a long time and…you don’t need to worry I wouldn’t do anything that made you uncomfortable, and you can hate me if you want….”

“Uh, Matt…” Foggy’s brain latched onto the word “hate,” instinctively moving to erase that poisonous thought from Matt’s mind. “I don’t hate you, don’t be ridiculous. I am very much not hating you, right now. Or ever. How could you think I hate you just because you like dudes, too?”

“Oh, Foggy…that’s not what I’m saying.”

Foggy struggled to understand what in the world Matt _was_ saying. “So now you’re saying you’re…not bi?”

“No. No! I mean, I am. I definitely am, but what I’m talking about now is…”

Foggy raised his eyebrows expectantly, before vocalizing his anticipation, “I’m on the edge of my seat here, Matt, what are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about…” Matt trailed off again, and Foggy kind of wanted to reach over and shake the answer out of him.

Finally, Matt opened his mouth and whispered, “I’m talking about how I’m in love with you, Foggy.”

~~~

There. He’d said it. But Matt’s chest didn’t feel any lighter. Not yet. He’d have to be sure that Foggy hadn’t changed his mind about the no-hating thing before he could relax at all.

“I…I’ve been in love with you for…I don’t even know how long, stupid-long though,” Matt forged on, since it was the only thing he could think of doing. “I, uh, I realize it’s pretty…well, inappropriate doesn’t seem like a big enough word but…” Still no response from Foggy, other than a thundering heartbeat and a variety of other high-stress indicators and…hmm, the scent of rising blood sugar? That usually indicated a hormonal reaction, but with Foggy…it was just hard to tell, after so many years…the closer he’d gotten to Foggy, the harder he seemed to be to read. High hormone levels could be telling of a positive reaction – the best possible reaction, actually, but…

“I, uh…I can’t tell how you’re reacting to all this.” Matt was relieved to hear his voice wasn’t shaking, and wished he could say the same about his hands.

“Not sure myself,” Foggy’s voice sounded almost distant, floating through the panicky haze descending on Matt’s mind. “But ah...how ‘bout you come over here and find out?”

Matt froze, unsure if he'd correctly understood what Foggy’s words seemed to imply.

“Yes, Matt, that was my very best attempt at flirting,” Foggy confirmed. “You can mock my utter lack of game after you kiss me.”

Well, Matt didn’t have to be told twice.

He reached out with both (still shaking) hands to cup Foggy’s face like he had when he was mapping it out, and did what he’d wanted to do that day and nearly every other day since he’d met Foggy: he pulled him in for a kiss.

It was perfect, not because it was how Matt had imagined it would be, but because it was _better_.

“Wait,” Foggy pulled away abruptly, sounding upset. Matt swayed forward a little, dazedly chasing Foggy’s lips. “What about you and Claire?”

“What?” The wheels of Matt’s brain spun uselessly for a minute before he caught on to Foggy’s meaning. “No! No, Foggy she's just a friend. I mean, we tried to once…but it didn’t work out.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Oh, ok. Sorry,” Foggy responded on impulse, before suddenly realizing, “hey, never mind, not sorry. Very not sorry. Thrilled actually. Not to be mean. But seriously,” Foggy did his best serious face, the one that was actually thoroughly adorable, “she should keep her distance.”

“Oh, Foggy there isn’t a person on the planet less mean than you.” Matt ran a hand almost reverently along Foggy’s jaw, feeling Foggy’s skin heat with a blush. “And you really don’t need to worry, she's the one who actually bet me to do this in the first place.”

“Oh.” Foggy took a deep breath in relief, but seemed to choke on it as his eyes widened and he spluttered, “But, then, this was just, a… a dare?”

Ice gripped Matt’s insides at the terrific hurt on Foggy’s face at the idea, and quickly moved to assure him, “Oh God, no, Foggy. This is _so real_.” Matt crushed their mouths together roughly to prove his goodwill. Foggy moaned a little against his lips, and the momentary panic that had bubbled up in Matt’s chest quickly subsided, as he yielded to the heated give and take of Foggy’s mouth.

~~~

Was this really happening? Foggy couldn’t be sure that it was. The idea that he lived in a reality where Matt bought him donuts, sat him down and admitted that he was in love with him was fairly ridiculous but… Well, evidence as to the reality of these events was currently nibbling on his lower lip.

When Foggy had imagined what it would be like if Matt ever kissed him, a more common occurrence than he would like to admit, he'd usually figured his brain would just shut down, short out, with the shock of it. But that wasn't how it was at all - his brain went into overdrive, desperately attempting to provide a description for every tiny sensation, inscribe each moment in memory, reveling in the pleasure and wonder of an event as magical as this coming to life.

And god, it was magical. Magical to feel Matt’s strong, slender fingers cupping his face, tilting it to get a better angle on his mouth.

According to all of Foggy’s senses, Matt was indeed letting one hand trail down Foggy’s neck, over his shoulder, to gently take his arm and pull it away from his body and towards Matt’s. Foggy couldn’t be sure what this was supposed to mean, or what he was supposed to do. But when he tentatively laid his hand on Matt’s bicep, spreading his fingers over the firm muscle and leaning in a little closer, Matt started to make a happy humming noise that was simultaneously very adorable and deeply sexual, and Foggy knew he’d done right.

Matt’s left hand ran softly up and down Foggy’s arm, while his right slipped up along Foggy’s jaw to tangle it in his hair, tugging gently. Foggy’s mouth opened wider in a moan at the sensation and Matt took advantage of the opportunity, diving in a little roughly to stake his claim to the territory. Foggy enthusiastically approved of this idea and almost fell out of his chair trying to get closer to Matt’s intoxicating heat. Their knees knocked together, and the mild pain reminded Foggy of how unideal this seating arrangement was for the present activities, but he couldn’t bring himself to break their embrace long enough to suggest a relocation.

A moment later, Foggy wished he’d done just that when a choked “oh….my god,” come from the direction of his suddenly open office door. Karen stood there, frozen with her hand on the doorknob, holding a sheaf of papers and looking a little shell shocked.

There was a beat of silence where Foggy stared at Karen, and Karen stared at Foggy and Matt, and Matt stared vaguely at the space between Foggy and Karen.

“Hi,” she finally sputtered, shifting her weight back and forth like she was considering making a run for it.

“Hi,” Matt and Foggy responded in unison. Foggy knew his face was on the fast train to beet red, but Matt looked completely unfazed.

“Guess I should have knocked,” she muttered, more to herself than to them, although Matt shot her a crooked smile, looking quite unfairly at ease.

“So…that finally happened,” Karen noted distantly.

“Yeah, it did,” Foggy confirmed, the words slipping out dreamily before he could stop them. Matt’s chest puffed up and he smiled brightly, clearly very pleased.

“Should I…” Karen hooked a thumb towards the door she’d just come through, tilting away from the awkward tableau. “I can just…go home early. Or take a lunch. A _long_ lunch.”

“You know, Karen,” Matt stood up, wrapping his hand in Foggy’s tie as he stood. Foggy looked down at said hand, not sure what was happening, but pretty cool with whatever it was.

“You stay here, finish up whatever you were working on. Foggy and I will take the long lunch. Very long. Actually, I think we’re calling in sick,” Matt declared, tugging Foggy to his feet via his tie. “I must not be completely recovered from whatever I had last night. And you’re really quite ill, aren’t you, Foggy,” Matt stated more than asked, pulling Foggy, who wasn’t feeling sick so much as dizzy, towards the door with a determined set to his face.

“Ah, yup,” Foggy mustered up a pathetic sort of cough. “Almost on my death bed.” As what the purpose behind this charade must be finally dawned on Foggy, he considered the possibility that he may well be about to die, from shock or cardiac arrest or ecstasy, dealer’s choice.

“Of course!” Karen played along, backing away from the door, blushing. “You, uh, get better,” she managed to mutter, giving Foggy a quick thumbs up before diving behind the relative safety of her desk.

Foggy thought halfheartedly that they should really be bringing their briefcases with, at least, if they were going to play hooky. This thought was banished from his mind as he caught sight of the predatory glint behind Matt’s glasses, and heard the creak of fabric as Matt tightened his grip territorially on Foggy’s tie.

Nope, he decided as they nearly dashed from the office. Work was just out of the question, they were both clearly going to be _way_ too busy with more important matters. As the two fell into the back of a cab, Foggy’s mind raced with the possibilities that the morning and the dangerous set to Matt’s mouth presented. When Matt leaned in close and began a stream of dirty whispers against the shell of his ear, Foggy began to seriously wonder if he was going to drop dead here in this sweaty leather seat, trapped in morning rush hour traffic. But what a way to go, he thought dizzily, as the hand Matt didn’t have tangled in his tie slipped lower and lower on his waist. What a way to go.


	5. Love and Lies

Matt slipped a few extra twenties to the driver (Foggy’s financial sense was too drowned out by his physical senses to raise a fuss at that) halfway through the ride to encourage his speed, meaning that they spent almost as much time on the curb as they did on the road – but they did get to Matt’s apartment in record time. They stumbled rather awkwardly out of the cab since Matt seemed unwilling to relinquish his hold on Foggy’s tie, and barged into the building, collapsing into the ancient elevator where Foggy thumbed the button for Matt’s floor a bit frantically.  Foggy realized he was sweating rather badly from the heady combination of Matt’s heat and the slightly terrifying drive in the cab, and worried that this was a distinctly un-sexy thing to be doing. However, this fear was quashed when, as the elevator doors finally slammed shut, Matt pinned Foggy against the wall and ran his tongue in a hot line just under Foggy’s jaw. Foggy’s head fell back with a clunk on the creaking metal behind him, and all he could do was hold on for dear life as Matt devoted his attention fully and passionately to an incredibly sensitive spot on Foggy’s neck.

They fell out of the elevator, Matt’s steps sure and steady as Foggy clutched at him for support, a distant part of his brain noting the irony that he was essentially being led by a blind man. Foggy wondered at how calmly Matt retrieved his key and undid the lock, not even fumbling once. This composed façade shattered a moment later when Matt swung Foggy inside the apartment and shoved him roughly up into the dark corner of his entryway, narrowly avoiding banging Foggy’s head against the coatrack. Things were getting distinctly R-rated, and Foggy was hyperaware of the fact that Matt had just whipped off his suit jacket and now seemed intent on relieving Foggy of his. Foggy complied happily, using the momentary break in Matt’s assault on his mouth to suggest with a breathless grin, “think maybe we could do this in a slightly comfier location?”

“Of course,” Matt immediately agreed, grabbing hold of both of Foggy’s hands and dragging him further into the apartment. Past the kitchen area, the little table and chairs, the couch that Foggy had made the mistake of falling asleep on once (his back had ached for days after, damn that thing), until finally… Foggy’s pulse got impossibly faster as Matt made a beeline for the bed. Oh. God. Matt was taking Foggy to bed. This was real. This was happening.

 _Hell yeah_.

Foggy wondered if it would be bad form to tackle a blind man into bed, because that was what he really wanted to do at the moment. This decision was taken from him, however, when Matt took the initiative and managed to somehow throw _Foggy_ onto the bed, where he quickly found himself on his back with an armful of hungry Matt Murdock on top of him. Holy hell, Matt was _strong_. Foggy marveled at the ease with which Matt had manhandled him onto the sheets (wow, the silk _was_ nice, Foggy kind of got what Matt meant now). Foggy let his hands roam appreciatively up and down Matt’s firm arms, before wrapping around his deliciously muscled back. He was suddenly struck with a violent need to see what those muscles looked like underneath the fabric of Matt’s shirt, to find out what all that skin _felt_ like.

Foggy reluctantly released his grip on Matt’s back to scrabble at his collar, trying vainly to get Matt’s tie out of the way and having no success with the knot. Matt laughed, his hot breath tickling Foggy’s neck before he pulled back to loosen his tie and tug it over his head, leaving Foggy to pull apart the buttons on his shirt. Foggy was almost drooling at the thought of feasting his eyes on the acres of skin and muscle that he hadn’t caught more than a glimpse of since they’d moved out of their cramped dorm room. But his jubilation evaporated almost instantly as his eyes latched onto a patch of skin on Matt’s chest that bore an angry red line – jagged, fresh, unhealed. Foggy tore the rest of Matt’s shirt off, eyes fixed on the minefield of cuts and bruises each new pull of fabric revealed. He heard Matt’s breath catch and felt him freeze under his hands. Foggy’s fingers danced lightly above Matt’s skin, marred with at least a half a dozen other scars, in various states of healing and fading. What in God’s name had Matt been doing to get all of these?

“Oh, Foggy…I’m sorry I…I was so caught up in…in…” Matt’s voice was wrecked, and not in the sexy way it had been just moments before.

“Uh, Matt…maybe we should talk about this?”

“I think we…definitely should talk about this,” Matt admitted, though he sounded like that was the absolute last thing he wanted to do.

“Do I…do I want to know where you got…these?” Foggy ran the tip of his pointer finger along one of the oldest looking scars, a rough slice along Matt’s right pectoral (which was perfectly formed, and which Foggy very much wished he could be focusing on right now instead of the scar that marred it.)

“I sincerely doubt it,” Matt replied miserably. His face was darkening into one of Foggy’s least favorite expressions, and it jolted him out of the frozen confusion brought on by the shock of his unpleasant discovery.

“Ok, nope,” Foggy quickly stowed away all the worries and fears springing up in his mind as he saw the familiar signs of a Matt Murdock Guilt Trip™ on the way. “On second thought, we have no time to talk. Not right now. Sex first, guilt-ridden confessions later.”

“Uh…” Matt’s mouth fell open, and Foggy was pleased to find that his mind quickly leaped back onto the sex-train and started to vigorously imagine what could be done with that perfect red mouth.

“I’m serious, Matt. I get the feeling that this is going to be a long, emotionally trying talk, and personally, I’d rather have it whilst riding high on post-sex endorphins.”

“I’m fairly certain that that’s not a very responsible idea,” Matt cautioned, although his fingers twitched on Foggy’s shoulders, and Foggy was sure that Matt’s body was considering it, even if his mind wasn’t.

“I am entirely certain that it’s not. But you know what else I’m certain of?” Foggy let his hands find Matt’s hips, running down his thighs and then back up his sides to glide across his chest and up to his neck, where he cupped Matt’s face, gently pulling it down closer to his own.

“If you don’t fuck me in the next few minutes, I think I will actually die,” Foggy whispered roughly against Matt’s jaw. He waited a long, heart-stopping moment for Matt’s response. When Matt began to pull away a moment later, it felt like the air had been ripped from his lungs. His breath returned in full force a second later as he realized that Matt wasn’t going away just…down. And down. The look dancing in Matt’s glazed, hazel eyes was distinctly devilish as he slipped further down Foggy’s body and…well, ok. Very ok. So much more than ok. Foggy found himself struggling for breath again as Matt’s teeth delicately latched onto the button of Foggy’s pants, pulling it free.  To hell with talking. They’d been _talking_ for years. Foggy, for one, was more than ready for some _action_.

~~~

After the sex (oh Lord, there were no words, except to say that Claire was clearly an idiot) they lay quietly in bed together. Matt’s unfocused eyes appeared to be watching the ceiling, while Foggy inspected the truly glorious thing that was a hot, shining, post-orgasm Matt Murdock.

“So, are you just completely attractive, all the time?” Was the question Foggy couldn’t help but ask when Matt stretched luxuriously, making his sculpted muscles dance in an incredibly pleasing manner. “Are you immune to bed head, and outbreaks of acne, and gaining any fat anywhere? Are you the kind of person who doesn’t sweat, and only glistens? I'm just asking out of a scientific curiosity.”

Matt laughed, twisting towards him (flexing attractively on purpose, Foggy was pretty sure). “Hmmm….” Matt demurred, “have you been wondering that for a long time?”

“Pretty much since the day I met you,” Foggy shrugged, riding too high from post-Matt pleasure to feel embarrassed about the ridiculous length of time he’d been ogling Matt.

“Do you think I’m attractive, Foggy?” Matt asked, and Foggy was surprised to hear that he sounded serious.

“Really, Matt?” Foggy reached out to run a hand slowly along Matt’s firm side, and got immediately sidetracked in the delicate skin there.

“Really, Foggy.”

Foggy peered into Matt’s eyes, wondering what his game was, and was hit with that feeling in your gut when you miss a step on the stairs, when he realized that Matt wasn’t playing around.

“Yes, Matt, I think you’re attractive. I think you’re so attractive it makes me want to cry. It has, in fact, brought me to tears on more than one occasion, I am only slightly ashamed to admit.” Foggy cupped Matt’s way-too-sad face in one hand and scooted closer. “What’s bringing this on? You must know how hot other people think you are.”

“I…I know some people…”

“The huge majority of people…” Foggy corrected.

“Okay, a majority of people…but I didn’t think that majority included you.”

Foggy sighed, still not quite able to believe Matt hadn’t picked up on Foggy’s generally starry-eyed state in Matt’s presence. “Matt, you’re so freakin’ hot, it should be illegal. I should actually sue you for damages. I still might, so watch out.”

Matt laughed, but didn’t sound very reassured. “So then…then you are interested in a…a relationship, then? I mean, we don’t have to if you’re not comfortable...if all you really want is a physical arrangement, than I think I can live with that…”

“Wait, what?” Foggy was totally lost. “You think I…I only want you for your _body_?”

Foggy actually slapped his forehead as he realized he had not, in fact, _said_ all of the important things Matt had already said to him. Foggy hadn’t admitted to his own years of pining, jealousy, and inappropriate thoughts and…and he hadn’t said how much he loved Matt, for _everything_ he was.

“Ok, listen up Matty. I’m only going to say this once – wait, no, that’s not right, I’ll probably say this a bajillion more times but…ok. My point is this: I love you.” Foggy waited a beat, letting that sink in. Matt’s features betrayed nothing, so Foggy decided to plow on.

“I love you. The second I laid eyes on you, I got the _worst_ crush, but, you didn’t seem interested so I shoved that aside. Whatever, I figured, he’s hot but straight, it’s cool, we’ll be friends. Great. Except, then we were good friends, and then _best_ friends, and then we were spending all of our time together, and I kept shoving my feelings aside so they didn’t ruin everything but…every single second I spent with you was feeding this fire I was never able to get rid of, and it probably took years before I admitted it to myself, but somewhere along the way I’d fallen in love with you. More than friend love, the full deal – the kind where I wanted to bring you flowers and buy you dinner and hold your hand, and then also take you home and bang you. Basically, not platonic at all. But Matt, I didn’t fall in love with your body. Fell in lust with it, maybe, but I fell in _love_ with the rest of you. Your smile and your terrible puns and your stubbornness and your unshakable need to do the right thing no matter how stupid it is – all of it.” Foggy tried to catch his breath, but he still sounded a bit shaky as he finished his speech, “I love you.”

Foggy let silence fall, feeling raw and exposed. But the feeling came with a sort of lightness, like the words he’d finally said had been a real, physical weight on his shoulders. He waited with bated breath as Matt’s mouth slowly opened, his eyebrows drawing together as if he was considering his next words with the utmost care.

“Matty?” Matt finally murmured, hopefully.

“Really? _Really_?” Foggy giggled a little hysterically. “That whole, spilling my heart out speech and you pick up on the dumb nickname?” He began to consider whacking Matt in the face with a pillow for how completely he had missed the point of the “I love you” talk.

“I like it. When you say it. Other people have called me that before, and I usually hate it…but I love how it sounds in your voice.”

Foggy quickly reconsidered his previous plan, opting instead to lay a wet, open-mouthed kiss on Matt.

“Love you, Matty,” he whispered against Matt’s lips, testing the effect of his words. It was apparently a very positive one, as Matt moaned and began to reciprocate energetically, climbing suddenly back on top of Foggy in a swift, sure movement that began to unravel Foggy’s already tenuous grip on his sanity.

“You know Matt,” Foggy gasped under the (very welcome) onslaught, “I still have some things I haven’t said…we should probably talk it out a little more.”

“Talk. _Later_ ,” Matt growled, echoing Foggy’s earlier words, before rushing back in to make a very convincing argument with his tongue that talking wasn’t the best thing Foggy could be doing with his mouth right now.

~~~

And later, talk they did. Wow, was there a _lot_ of talking to be done. Foggy was grateful for the pizza they’d ordered, he didn’t think he could do this on an empty stomach. He wondered if his head was visibly spinning as Matt lay out the first of (disturbingly) _several_ significant things he declared Foggy must know.

“So…you’re not blind?” Was all Foggy could ask, after Matt gave a long, confusing speech using really wild phrases like “enhanced senses” and “world on fire.”

“No, Foggy I _am_ blind. My eyes don’t work, I can’t see – but that doesn’t mean I don’t _perceive_ things. My other senses have been heightened a thousandfold, and the accident gave me a sort of…‘radar’ sense that does serve as a crude substitute for sight. It’s _different_ , though, Foggy, and you have to understand that.”

“OK. Radar. Fine. So you’re like a bat, or a dolphin.” Foggy nodded to himself, trying to wrap his head around the idea as he leaned on the armrest of the couch to which they’d relocated to eat their food. (Absolutely no food in bed, ever, Matt had insisted, and Foggy was now getting a better idea of why that was – crumbs weren’t sexy, especially if you had hyper-senses.)

“If you feel better thinking about it that way, sure,” Matt agreed from the chair he’d pulled up next to the couch, the purposeful distance he’d put between them worrying Foggy.

“But what I really want to know is…”

“Is?”

“If I throw this slice of pizza at you, will you be able to catch it?” Foggy asked, tone deadly serious.

“Well, considering your throwing arm, I doubt it would make it all the way over here, but in theory, yes.”

“Are you mocking my athletic ability, Murdock? I am deeply offended. And considering throwing this pizza at you, for real.”

“I would never,” Matt laughed before raising his hands in defense, “But, actually, please don’t throw the pizza. If it gets in the carpet I will be able to smell it for literal weeks.”

“Ick, sorry, buddy. Whoa, _really_ sorry, I was a total slob in college. You must have been dying!”

“Eh,” Matt shrugged like it was no big deal, and smiling a little goofily.

“Seriously, dude, our room was a sty by _my_ standards, how did you survive?”

“Well, it was worth putting up with, ah…a bit of clutter, to be with you.”

“A _bit_ of clutter?” Foggy narrowed his eyes, “OK, now I’m suspicious. I mean, you usually are a total martyr but still, you could be getting some good ribbing in right now for my disgusting habits…what is this other thing you have to tell me, exactly?”

“It’s, ah,” Matt’s smile fell off his face instantly, his brow furrowing, “it’s something a lot worse than the thing about my senses…”

“Well, the senses thing is actually kind of cool,” Foggy began tentatively, “I mean, it’s a little weird and occasionally invasive – but Matt, that’s not your fault. You just use what you have. I mean, blaming you for hearing someone’s heartbeat or whatever would be like blaming me for hearing ordinary things, like people talking or whatever. You didn’t choose to be this way.”

“No, but I choose what I do with the powers I was given, and I’m terrified that you’ll hate me for what I use them for.” The color faded from Matt’s face, and he looked about as upset as Foggy had ever seen him. Foggy reached out to take Matt’s hand, but Matt shied away, looking ill.

“Jesus, Matt, just tell me before you have a stroke. It’s not the secret boyfriend is it?”

“ _What_?” Matt sputtered, looking totally blindsided.

“The secret boyfriend that I was worrying you were going to tell me you had when you came out to me?”

“Oh, no, Foggy, you’ve always been the only man for me,” Matt waved his hand casually, dismissing the idea, while Foggy lit up. The only man for Matt. He really liked the sound of that.

“No, this is much worse,” Matt continued grimly, and Foggy’s brief thrill faded. “You know how my dad was a boxer, but he didn’t want me to fight?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, I didn’t listen.”

“Uh…what do you mean?”

“I mean that I’ve been training my mind and body for combat since my dad died. Everything, all sorts of martial arts, meditation for healing and focus, making best use of my senses to take the upper hand in battle…”

Foggy’s brain felt like one of their terrible old office computers, frozen and useless, with no hope of ctrl-alt-deleting his way out.

“Foggy, there’s so much evil out there in the world, I felt like I was drowning in it,” Matt’s voice was ratcheting higher with desperation, “and putting on the mask… Well, it was the only way I knew how to tread water.”

Foggy froze, and then slowly started to slide further and further away down the couch, away from Matt, as the meaning of his best friend’s words began to trickle down into his conscious mind.

“ _Mask_ , Matt? What are you talking about?”

“I’m him, Foggy,” Matt’s voice cracked, and the sound was echoed in Foggy’s heart. “I’m the man in the mask. The Devil who’s been roughing up gangbangers and rapists and mobsters on the streets. It’s me.”

“No,” said Foggy’s mouth, even as his brain started to see the pattern: no Matt equaled man in the mask on the news; Matt with Foggy, no man in the mask sightings. Oh God.

“Yes, I am, Foggy. I can’t begin to say how sorry I am for not telling you. You were and are my best friend in life and you deserved to know, but I was a coward, just a damn coward, and once I started to lie, I couldn’t stop.”

Foggy snapped suddenly, and threw the entire pizza at Matt, the carpet be damned, Matt deserved to be haunted by the smell of tomato sauce for this. But, Matt caught it deftly using the mad ninja skills he apparently had, and Foggy took a moment to be impressed at his nimble reflexes before going back to being righteously angry. He considered throwing something else with a little more heft to it, but then just sagged back into the couch cushions as a wave of intense exhaustion rolled over him. All this time. How had he been so stupid? He couldn’t bring himself to move or speak. He just waited, hoping Matt would say something he could latch onto.

“I’m so sorry, Foggy, I can’t imagine what you must be thinking right now.”

I’m kind of wishing I’d been thinking with my upstairs brain when you said that we should talk, earlier, Foggy silently replied, before saying out loud, “well, who knew, I can now say I’ve slept with a celebrity. I mean, do you know you were trending on Twitter after the bombings?”

“Foggy, I didn’t set those bombs. Or shoot those cops. You have to believe me.”

“I do, Matt,” Foggy answered wearily, but truthfully. “You would never do that. Though, yesterday I would have said you would never take to the streets in a Halloween costume to dish out vigilante justice, either.”

“Foggy, I know it must feel like you don’t know me at all, right now, but you _do_. I’m the same person I’ve always been. I’m still your best friend, the crazy, hard-headed, do-gooder who never listens to his much smarter partner before diving headfirst into trouble. The trouble I get into just tends to take place in more back alleys than court rooms. I’m still _me_ , Foggy, and you know me.”

“You’re right, Matt, I do know you. And I think that’s why…” Foggy ran his hands through his hair, as if the motion could force his thoughts back into order the way it did his unruly blonde locks. “Well, it’s totally bizarre. I feel like I should be completely shocked by all this but…it kind of…makes sense? All these weird things you’ve done…the unaccounted-for nights, the awful bruises you said were from your clumsy blind guy accidents…I assume those ‘accidents’ were courtesy of the man in the mask? Or do you prefer ‘The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen’?”

“Foggy…I’m so sor–”

“No, Matt, _no_ ,” Foggy cut him off harshly, “don’t say you’re sorry. I don’t want to hear it. The only thing I want to hear is the truth.”

“It _is_ the truth,” Matt insisted, actually wringing his hands, “I _am_ sorry. I am _so_ sorry.”

“If you’re ‘so sorry’ then why the hell did it take you so long to tell me the truth? Wait, how long have you been doing this? I can only assume you’ve been doing this for years.”

“No, Foggy not that long…just since…do you remember, when that little girl was being abused by her father and…and no one would listen?”

“Yeah, Matt, I remember, it was horrible. And it was messing you up too, until…” Realization didn’t so much dawn on Foggy as hit him like a freight train. “That was when? That was what started it?”

“Yes. I couldn’t…I couldn’t take it so…so I went out one night, I found the bastard, and I beat a lesson into him. Told him if he ever touched his daughter again, I would know. And Foggy…it felt so _right_.” A dark pride was stealing across Matt’s face, and Foggy felt like he should be getting queasy at all this talk of violence but…but he’d seen Ms. Cardenas’ corpse lying cold in a morgue, and he realized that if all he’d had to do was put on a mask to stop that…he would have. In a second.

“OK, Matty,” Foggy purposefully used the affectionate nickname, quietly pleased when it seemed to calm Matt down, “I think I understand. I understand why you do this. It’s still a little scary, and I still have a huge backlog of heart attacks I didn’t know I should be having about your safety but…the thing that I can’t understand is still why you didn’t tell me. I thought we were friends, best friends, and you said…you said, now, that you love me. If you really loved me, then why didn’t you tell me?”

“Please, Foggy,” Matt’s voice was choked, and he reached for Foggy, but Foggy leaned away. He couldn’t let Matt touch him, not now, not yet. “Don’t doubt for a second, that I love you. Because I do. I didn’t tell you about the mask for a lot of the same reasons that I didn’t tell you about my feelings. I couldn’t know how you would react. And I just couldn’t risk your friendship, it was too important to me, _you_ are too important to me…”

“Really, Matt? Am I important? Because all this time, all these years of me opening doors and describing what people look like and making sure you don’t walk into mailboxes and lampposts – you didn’t need it. You didn’t need me. You _don’t_ need me.”

“No, Foggy, that’s not true,” Matt protested vehemently. “Just because I know how to _fight_ …because I’m not a bumbling, helpless blind guy…you shouldn’t think that means I need you _less_. It’s the exact opposite. Foggy, _you_ are what keeps me grounded when I want to fly off the handle. If it hadn’t been for your friendship, I would have jumped off the deep end a long time ago…I would have done things I couldn’t come back from. You have saved me Foggy, every day, just by being you.”

“So then, you haven’t…” Foggy’s voice failed him for a moment, as he tried to gather his scrambled thoughts. “You have done anything…” Foggy sucked in a breath and drummed up all his courage. “Matt. Have you killed anyone?” Foggy couldn’t believe, even given all the other world-shattering revelations he’d received in the last day, that he was actually asking Matt that question. His Matty, a killer?

“No, Foggy, I haven’t. I promise you. I would be lying if I said I hadn’t thought about it but…no. I’ve never gone that far.” Matt moved slowly forward, his hands reaching out, palms up and cautious. Foggy stayed where he was, trying to keep his breathing steady as Matt’s fingers finally, tenderly brushed against his. Matt wrapped Foggy’s hands in his own and pulled them to his mouth, where he pressed a long, gentle kiss to each one before whispering, “I swear to you, on my father’s soul, I will _never_ go that far.”

Foggy let his breath out in a long whoosh of air, his shoulders relaxing as he closed his eyes. He let the doubts and the fears and the anger and the betrayal out along with his breath, and when he filled his lungs again he felt the last puzzle pieces of his heart click into place.

“Ok, Matty, Ok. I believe you. Both of you, all of you. And…” Foggy tugged his hands free of Matt’s firm but gentle grip to cup his face in both hands. “I love you, Matt. And I love you too, Mr. Devil, or whatever you like to be called.” A laugh burst from Matt as his dark expression was washed away by a huge, bright smile, and if anything could ever sound like sunshine, it was Matt’s laugh, Foggy decided.

Foggy pulled his sunshine man in for a kiss, grateful that he had the power to send the clouds of darkness away, if only for a little while.

“Foggy, you can’t imagine what that means to me. What _you_ mean to me,” Matt breathed against Foggy’s lips between kisses, “That you don’t hate me because of… _him_.” Foggy took yet another shock to his system when he realized that there were tears sliding down his best friend’s cheeks.

“Hey, now. He, you…you’re the same person, Matty. Different sides, maybe, but I think you need each part to be whole. I said I loved _all_ of you, and I meant it…you wouldn’t be _you_ without him. Because the man I feel in love with…he’s a hero.”

“A hero,” Matt murmured, more tears gathering in the corners of his eyes, and Foggy leaned in to kiss them away.

“Yup. My hero... Oh no.” Foggy reared back, and Matt’s eyes flew wide.

“What?” Matt asked with a touch of panic, and Foggy grabbed both of his shoulders seriously.

“Matt. Does this make me Lois Lane?”

Matt stayed frozen for a moment, and then his eyes narrowed, the only warning he gave before he flew forward and tackled Foggy onto his back, the springs of the couch groaning in protest.

“You. Little. _Shit_ ,” Matt snarled between pressing fierce kisses to Foggy’s mouth and jaw and neck.

“But Matt, I would look _terrible_ in a skirt suit!” Foggy complained, not really putting up a struggle against the way Matt had him pinned.

Matt’s sigh turned into a laugh, as he responded, “I don’t think skirt suits are a requirement for dating a superhero.”

“Really? Have you ever seen Lois Lane wearing anything else?”

“How insensitive of you, Foggy,” Matt gasped in mock offense, “you know I’ve never _seen_ Lois Lane wearing _anything_.”

They both laughed uproariously at that, and by the time they’d caught their breath, Foggy found Matt had snuggled up against his side, not looking like he planned on moving anytime soon.

“So…movie?” Foggy suggested, reaching for the remote. “Something funny, maybe, to relax us a bit?”

“Sure,” Matt murmured against Foggy’s neck.

A question occurred to Foggy. “Can you, you know, ‘see’ the screen? With your magic powers?”

“No, I can’t. Flat, electronic things don’t give off the right signals, they’re just blotches of heat and the hisses and whirrs of hardware. And my powers aren’t magic, they’re just…weird.”

“They’re _special_ ,” Foggy corrected, “one may even say, super.” Matt giggled, slightly hysterical but happy.

“And if that’s all movies are, then maybe that’s not the way to go?”

“No, I’d like to watch a movie with you. I love listening to your voice, describing and narrating everything…you get all excited, and you wave your arms around and your heart starts beating faster…”

“Oh, man… I forgot you’d have been able to pick up on that. Wow, I’m going to have to go back through the last years of my life and figure out all the times I totally embarrassed myself in front of you…”

“Wait, pick up on what, exactly?” Matt’s confused expression was patently adorable, and Foggy couldn’t help but immediately admit, “Matt. I wasn’t getting excited about the movies. I just loved having your undivided attention; I loved watching you listen to me. You always looked so…happy.”

Matt broke into another one of his heart-stopping smiles, and told Foggy, “I _was_ happy. I guess neither of us was actually watching the movie for the movie.” He looked quite pleased at the thought, and Foggy couldn’t help but lean forward, wanting to find out what that expression tasted like. Matt’s mouth opened easily to Foggy as he leaned in to deepen the kiss, and they both forgot about the movie for a while.

~~~

That night, after the day of mind-bending, world-changing confessions, Matt lay in bed, feeling completely at peace as he watched Foggy snore gently, tucked up against Matt’s shoulder. Matt’s own breathing matched itself to the gentle rumble, a sound that had once been a near constant as he slept. A sound which he hadn’t realized how much he’d missed in the time he and Foggy had lived apart.

Matt just couldn’t believe it had gone over that easily, any of it. All those years of lies and masking his feelings – all of it had been, apparently, unnecessary. Part of him wanted to kick himself for all the time he’d wasted when he could have been with Foggy like this, intimately and completely. But the majority of his being was simply too relieved that Foggy still wanted him, with all the ugly violence and despite the lies. After all, Foggy’s friendship hadn’t been a consolation prize – he’d still been Matt’s best friend, he’d still been _with_ him. And that was what was important.

Matt would have expected that on a night like this, with his emotions still running high and thoughts still swirling messily around his head, that any sleep at all would be difficult, and a peaceful night just a pipe dream. But Matt had Foggy’s heat, the comforting sounds of life pumping through his veins, and the knowledge that he had chosen to be here, to stay with Matt, because he _loved_ Matt. And so, Matt had been counting Foggy’s breaths like sheep for hardly ten minutes before he slipped away into a quiet, dreamless sleep.


	6. A Happy Ending

The next morning was like a waking dream. Matt felt the warmth of the sun on his skin, and surmised it to be somewhere around seven in the morning. He and Foggy usually tried to arrive at the office by eight, but Foggy looked so peaceful, and Matt didn’t see any harm in getting a little bit of a late start.

A few minutes later, Matt felt Foggy jolt into awareness, his heartbeat suddenly skyrocketing.

“Hey, Foggy, it’s alright,” Matt murmured, stroking his back soothingly, “It’s me, Matt, you’re at my apartment, you’re safe.” Foggy sighed, and nuzzled his face into Matt’s neck.

“Hey. Sorry if I startled you. It’s, uh…been a while since I, you know, woke up next to someone.”

“I understand.”

“I kind of doubt that, considering the number of lady friends you’ve had… wait,” Foggy lifted his head to stare deliberately at Matt. “If you’ve been out on the streets beating the shit out of criminals, does that mean that all those lady friends were…fake?”

“Well, not all of them…but a lot,” Matt admitted. “You just sort of…assumed I was spending my nights with women, and I didn’t…disabuse you of this notion.”

“Well, I’ll be damned. So I’m your first lay in, what, months?”

“At least,” Matt agreed amicably, “but easily my best lay in _ever_.”

“Oh, well, thank you. Feel free to continue stroking my ego.”

“Hmm…maybe that’s not all I want to _stroke_ …”

“Matt, that is a _terrible_ line and –” Foggy yelped unexpectedly, startling Matt as he almost fell out of bed, grabbing his phone and staring at the display. “Matt? Did you see the time? We’re going to be late!”

Foggy tumbled out of their tangled sheets as Matt protested, “c’mon, Foggy, it’s not like Karen will care if we come in late.”

“Maybe not, but we are supposed to be responsible professionals, _Matt_ ,” Foggy argued, his point losing credibility when  he tripped over his and Matt’s pants, tangled on the floor after being hastily discarded the previous night, and began to swear a blue streak. Matt briefly enjoyed ‘watching’ Foggy stumble around in a tizzy, stark naked, before he heaved himself out of bed after him with a sigh, reaching out to take Foggy’s shoulders and lead him towards the bathroom.

“Well, if you’re insisting on going straight off to work, then we’d best get into the shower, hadn’t we?” Matt murmured, stepping in close and pressing his body pointedly against Foggy’s back.

“Oh. Yes. We’d better,” Foggy stuttered, and Matt smiled wickedly at the sound of Foggy’s heartbeat beginning to race.

~~~

The shower took quite a bit longer than was strictly necessary, but then, the point of it hadn’t really been to get _clean_.

They made coffee and toast in companionable silence, Foggy entranced by how graceful Matt’s movements were, the way he navigated the space and operated the appliances with ease. It was a little astonishing to watch him move like this, almost dancing, after years of seeing him carefully, slowly feeling his way around wherever he went.

Matt took every opportunity to drop random kisses to Foggy’s lips, his cheek, his hair, his shoulders. After setting the coffee maker whirring and some bread toasting, Matt wrapped his arms around Foggy’s waist, pressing his body flush against his back. Foggy leaned into his strong, warm embrace, tilting his neck so Matt could get a better angle when he started pressing sweet kisses there.

 “You know, only yesterday,” Foggy began, “I would have sold my kidneys to kiss you, even just once. And it turns out, all I had to do was ask. Who knew?”

“Not you, clearly. And selling your kidneys wouldn’t have worked out well if you wanted to be doing any kissing afterwards.”

“Really? I don’t think of kidneys as being an integral part of kissing.”

“No, but they are fairly important in being alive, which is usually a prerequisite to kissing.”

“Good point,” Foggy conceded. “Ok, hopefully, I would have only sold _one_ kidney, but I couldn’t promise anything, because thoughts about kissing you have been tearing my sanity to shreds for years.”

Matt threw his head back, squeezing Foggy gently as he laughed joyfully. “Oh, Foggy, I’m _so_ sorry.”

“You are literally laughing your ass off at me right now. You’re not sorry at _all_ ,” Foggy countered, elbowing Matt’s side playfully. “Seriously, I’m once again considering legal action against you. You’ve caused permanent damage to my person and you think it’s a joke! How did I ever put up with you?” Foggy stuck his nose up theatrically, doing his best to look rightfully indignant.

“I am very, _very_ sorry,” Matt leaned in close and cooed in Foggy’s ear. “Please…let me try and make it up to you.” Their toast popped up with a cheerful ding as Foggy groaned, not-really-trying to discourage Matt’s wandering hands.

“Maaattt…” Foggy gestured weakly towards their food, “breakfast…”

“Oh, are you…hungry?” Matt growled as he flipped Foggy around so they were chest to chest, pressing him against the kitchen island.

“You are just full of tacky one-liners, aren’t you?” Foggy noted breathlessly, licking his lips and trying to remember what point he’d been trying to make just a moment earlier.

“Mmm, it’s a gift.”

“Or a curse.”

“I’ll leave that for you to decide,” Matt whispered, his hands twining in Foggy’s damp hair, tugging just enough to elicit a small whine from him.

It was probably both, Foggy decided, as their toast went uneaten and they became decidedly late for work.

~~~

They stumbled into the office, miraculously only a half an hour late, to find Claire and Karen giggling intimately, appearing to somehow both be sitting in Karen’s chair.

“Oh!” Karen almost tumbled off of Claire’s lap at the sight of them.

Claire just grinned at them smugly, reaching out to pull Karen back into place. “Howdy, Matt. You and Foggy have a good night?”

“The best,” Matt answered, taking hold of Foggy’s waist possessively. “You?”

“Same,” Claire grinned even wider, and Karen swiped at her shoulder making a shocked little noise.

“Oh,” was all Foggy had to say, as he took in the sight.

“Yeah, they’re together now,” Matt informed him lightly.

“Huh.” Foggy observed the two smiling women for a minute, before a smile of his own broke out across his features. “Well, congratulations! That’s really cool. Seriously,” Foggy leaned towards them conspiratorially, “I thought Karen here was going to feel like a third wheel now that Matt and I are…” Foggy trailed off and straightened up. “Hey, Matt, what are we?”

“Hmm,” Matt considered for a moment, “Boyfriends? Or would you prefer partners?”

“‘Partners’ sounds so clinical. And we kind of already _were_ partners. But ‘boyfriends’ makes us sound like fresh-faced teenagers.”

“You’re just Matt and Foggy,” Karen declared, “Nelson and Murdock. You always have been and you always will be.” She nodded like the matter was settled, and really it was.

“Nelson and Murdock,” Matt agreed.

“Nelson and Murdock,” Foggy smiled at Matt, feeling a fire light in his chest to match the glow on Matt’s face at the sound of those words.

“So, are Nelson and Murdock going to make doe eyes at each other all day,” Claire piped up, “or are you actually going to work? Because if it’s the former, I can think of some much better ways to occupy your secretary’s time…”

“I wish,” Matt replied with a laugh, “but we were already behind before we took some…impromptu personal time, yesterday.”

Claire snickered at that as Karen reluctantly stood, vacating her seat on Claire’s lap. “Well, on that note, there have been some messages you should probably take a look at…”

Matt and Foggy sighed in unison and moved forward as Claire kissed Karen goodbye and headed towards the door.

“Could I grab you for a sec, Matt?” Claire took his arm as she passed.

“Yeah, sure,” Matt dropped one last kiss on Foggy’s cheek as she tugged him away, making Karen aww and Claire roll her eyes.

The two stepped out into the hallway, the door clicking shut behind them as Claire turned to Matt.

“So, am I safe in assuming there’s another member in our little crime-fighting club, now?”

“Ah, yes, I suppose so. Though I would prefer he remain as safely distanced from the…nastier aspects…as possible.”

“Of course. He’s the type to faint at the sight of blood, isn’t he, the poor dear?” Claire laughed lightly, “Hope he doesn’t have to go through the same initiation into your one-man war against evil as I did, because, no offense, I don’t think a sweetie like him would hold up very well against the Russian mob.”

“That’s not funny,” Matt snapped, the color draining from his face, his grip tightening to a vice on Claire’s arm. She sobered quickly.

“Hey,” she flicked his fingers till he loosened his hold, then patted his hand gently. “I’m only half joking. Does he know what he’s gotten himself into?”

“I think so. Mostly. He knows the basics, but we haven’t talked everything out yet.”

“Well, I’d make sure you have that talk _soon_ , because otherwise he’ll be in for a hell of a nasty shock the next time the night doesn’t go your way and you collapse, bloody and half-dead on your rug, and he’s the one that finds you.”

“I will. Though, he already has a pretty good idea of the dangers…he saw my scars, after all.”

Claire hissed a breath in through her teeth. “Right. Rough. So, I wanted to ask, which bomb did you drop first, the ‘I love you’ or ‘I’m the Devil’?”

“I went with ‘I love you,’”

“Probably a good choice.”

“Yeah.”

“Well,” Claire patted his hand again before pulling him in for a hug. “You take care of him. Both of them, actually. I’m quite invested in your little crew.”

“Will do,” Matt promised seriously, hugging her tightly before stepping away and opening the door to the office. Claire and Matt watched (listened, felt, sensed) their respective paramours as they bent over to inspect some papers on Karen’s desk.

Matt let his senses reach out to Foggy, smiling at the sound of him tossing a baseball in the air absently as he flicked through a file. Matt’s heart swelled at the image in his mind, filled with love for Foggy, and for Claire too. Thank God for Claire, who had cut through his many layers of denial and repression, forcing him to admit his feelings and ending up changing his life for the better. _So_ much for the better.

“Best bet I ever made,” Claire leaned in to whisper in Matt’s ear as she watched Karen gracefully sweep her hair over her shoulder as she settled into her work.

“Me too,” Matt whispered back as he gave Claire one last hug goodbye, “me too.”


End file.
